Harry Potter and the Serpent's Coven
by Angelripper
Summary: Harry Potter realises that returning to Hogwarts for his final year is the only way he will succeed in his quest to destroy Lord Voldemort. It is a year of darkness, horror and new discoveries...Ginny Weasley is not only the witch who possesses Harry's he
1. The Boy Who Wished

**Harry Potter and the Serpent's Coven**

Chapter One - The Boy Who Wished

It was on a late foggy evening in July that the sound of pondering footsteps broke the silence on Privet Drive. The streetlamps had been lit for a couple of hours in the surrounding area, but for some reason, Privet Drive remained in almost complete darkness. The footsteps had stopped abruptly upon rounding the corner, and their owner, a teenage boy with untidy black hair and spectacles, now proceeded with caution.

As he came within about twenty yards of number four, he noticed the faint silhouette of something perched atop the garden wall. He slowly drew a wooden wand from inside his jacket and pointed it towards the ground a little way in front of him.

"_Lumos"_ he muttered under his breath, and the wand lit up his path like a torch.

He slowly raised it, not wishing to attract any attention, until the light reflected off what could only be the unflinching eyes of a cat As he looked closely at the animal sitting so stiffly on the wall and following his every movement, he realised where he had seen the cat before.

"I should have known" he chuckled to himself.

The cat gave a slightly twitchy nod as the boy approached.

"Good evening Professor" he said, and with that, the cat leapt from the wall and made a rapid transformation into the shape of a very earnest-looking witch, but never once removed her eyes from the boy. She walked up to him, her expression lessening in severity, and spoke.

"Harry Potter, you of all people should know how dangerous for a young wizard to be walking around openly and alone at night."

Harry shrugged. He had been expecting rebukes like this to be coming thick and fast since he last left Hogwarts, the school of witchcraft and wizardry where he had spent the last six years of his education.

"Professor McGonagall, I'll soon be enjoying the last day of the protection Dumbledore left on my home, but where am I really safe at all now? Where is _anyone_ safe?"

The very mention of the late headmaster's name had brought an almost tangible sadness down on the two of them. Harry scratched the back of his neck in the awkward silence, and McGonagall settled upon a brave smile.

"Walk with me a while, Potter".

They continued slowly past the house, both now more aware of the slight chill in the air. Harry was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with each step he took until the new headmistress spoke again.

"The Burrow was actually my last port of call, and as you may imagine, I had a great deal to discuss there."

Harry's heart began weighing him down as if it were now made of lead. Although he knew he would be returning to face them before long, he had done his utmost to forget about the Weasley family. Just the thought of the dark times ahead, and the suffering that he could well bring to them by his very existence was too much for him to bear. He could be as brave as he wanted, but over the past week, he had lost count of the thoughts that began with "I'd give anything…". He'd have given anything to have back those he had lost, to see his parents or Sirius, his godfather, if only to hear what they would've done in his situation. He'd have given anything for all to be right with the world of magic into which he had been pulled at the age of eleven, for the evil to be undone, and to worry about nothing more than life with the Dursleys or captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Within the bounds of this last wish, he would have given anything to be with Ginny, the beautiful daughter of the Weasleys who had invaded his heart and mind at every turn. Harry had ended their romance to keep Ginny safe, now that he himself was most definitely in harm's way. It was something of which he had to often remind himself, in a weak justification of the heartache that remained.

"Though it may surprise you to know that much of my time was taken up with your friend Ron and Miss Grainger," she continued, "who, I might add, seem to be presenting a far more united front than in times gone by."

"Really?" Harry replied.

Seeing a nod from McGonagall, his spirits rose a little. He had often felt over the past few years that Ron and Hermione, his two best friends, were a little too blind to the truth that there was something a lot more than simple friendship between the pair of them. It had been a long time coming.

"But it was a different matter I wished to discuss with you" she went on, following Harry's train of thought, "I refer to the rumour that you are not planning to return to Hogwarts this year".

Harry paused. He had not thought about how he would reply to this, but then again, he had not thought that anyone other than Ron and Hermione would have found out so soon. Feeling a little betrayed, he tried as best he could to explain.

"I have something I must do that's more important than my N.E.W.T's," he said, already feeling that, being unwilling to divulge his quest even to McGonagall, this explanation sounded a bit pathetic, "and I heard that the school might be closing anyway."

She sighed derisively.

"Potter, I may not be the gifted Legilimens that my predecessor was, but do not take me for a fool" a look of grave severity had returned to her face "The wizard you seek to destroy is feared by even the greatest of aurors and even by those in his service. Feared by those who have excelled in their pursuit of magical knowledge and pushed themselves to their furthermost limits, for good or ill. We have lost the only wizard who recognised the Dark Lord's weaknesses and had no fear of him!"

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and composed herself. Seeing the unwavering resolve in Harry's eyes, she smiled gently.

"Harry, you are every bit the perfect student of Gryffindor. Brave and unyielding in the face of danger, fiercely loyal to the end. I have no doubt that Godric himself would have been proud to teach you. But whether you like it or not, there are lessons that you have still to learn. And has Hogwarts not provided you with knowledge that has kept you alive so far? This is not about receiving a piece of parchment displaying your academic achievements, but about giving you the tools you will need to survive and do what you were born to do".

"But Professor – "

She raised her hand to silence him and continued.

"The appointment of Professor Snape to teach you Occlumency in your fifth year was somewhat ill-advised," Harry shuddered with rage at hearing the name spoken aloud, "but it is just one of many magical elements that you must be taught. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore told you many times that perhaps your greatest weapon is to have a heart that can love so deeply, but to be forever wearing it on your sleeve is the terrible weakness that accompanies it."

Harry was now staring in silence at her.

"I will be personally escorting you to The Burrow tomorrow afternoon. There is still much to be said, and much you must hear from those who wish to help you."

She straightened her hat and pulled on a small pair of black gloves. Harry then found his voice.

"Professor, I _know_ there are things I still have to learn, but I can't just go back to school. Even if you kept Hogwarts open, and there were enough parents letting their children go back there after what happened, my being there would just put everyone in more danger."

Professor McGonagall fixed him with a very earnest look.

"Harry, you don't understand. Hogwarts has now become the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and I have to say that many of them are now as bloodthirsty as any Death Eater. The enchantments placed in and around the castle are such that prepare us for war. These are dark times for all of us, of that there is no question, but more than ever a time to stand united."

Harry returned to a silent look of bewilderment as she readied herself to depart.

"Now I may not know every particular of what passed between you and Albus Dumbledore, but unless Lord Voldemort himself is sitting in my study as we speak, you will be returning to Hogwarts!"

And with a small 'pop', Professor McGonagall disappeared into thin air, leaving Harry Potter alone in the middle of Privet Drive, almost wishing that he was just a muggle who didn't know about _any_ of this.


	2. The Blood Oath

Chapter 2 – The Blood Oath

Having quite forgotten about the late hour, Harry slowly approached the Dursely's front door. Before he had a chance to take the key out of his pocket however, the door flew open and he found himself being accosted by the desperate, sleep-deprived figure of Uncle Vernon.

"Got you, you little parasite!" he yelled, dragging Harry inside, "I should…oh, it's you" he said in a disappointed tone.

Uncle Vernon had been keeping a careful nightly watch on his property from the living room window for nearly a week, having one morning found both his car and front lawn vandalised. This had continued into the early hours of the morning, causing Aunt Petunia to panic over her husband's state of health, but he was determined to catch the perpetrators in the act. His family's reasoning that the criminals would hardly be stupid enough to pick the same spot twice had of course fallen on deaf ears.

"What the bloody hell do you mean by prowling around at this time of night?" he demanded, resuming his air of authority.

Harry looked at his watch.

"But it's barely 11 o'clock," he protested.

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes and glared at his nephew suspiciously.

"I've allowed you quite enough freedom in the past boy, and all I ask under the circumstances is that everyone be indoors by nightfall."

"You wouldn't have cared if I'd stayed out all night," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"Probably not, but you could at least have the consideration to return during daylight hours," he snorted, turning his back.

As Harry reached the first stair, Uncle Vernon wheeled around abruptly.

"And if I find out that these thugs are any of _your_…kind having a laugh at the expense of normal, respectable people, there will be hell to pay!"

Harry looked vaguely amused by this remark.

"If they were any of '_my_ kind', you would know about it."

This did nothing for his uncle's mood.

"Just get out of my sight, before I call the police and tell them a little story of my own," he warned.

His nephew was already halfway up the stairs to his bedroom.

The room was in a somewhat different state to what is usually was at this time of year. Barely a thing had been removed from Harry's trunk besides the small number of books on the Dark Arts that were spread across his bed. Some were open with a few notes in the margins, and although some of them had been very recently ordered from Flourish and Blotts, all were showing signs of extensive use.

It had been a very anxious summer for Harry thus far, though he had more reason for anxiety than many. He was certain that either his shoes or the floor of his room would be worn all the way through before long, with the number of times he had paced up and down, deep in thought. How do you defeat a dark wizard? Each and every time he had faced Lord Voldemort, it was more a combination of luck and blind determination that had saved him. The next time, it would all be different. He would not simply be trying to defend himself, or ruin the Dark Lord's plans. The next time, he would either be a murderer or another casualty of war, and that was assuming that he even knew how to get as far as that opportunity.

Then there were the Horcruxes to consider; the objects in which Voldemort had concealed torn fragments of his soul, fragments from which he could be resurrected. As he hunted for them, he too would be hunted, and he had not the first clue about how one could destroy them. When he had destroyed Tom Riddle's diary in his second year at Hogwarts, he hadn't appreciated the properties of the object he was handling, and since Dumbledore, considered one of the greatest wizards who had ever lived, had lost the use of one hand in the attempt to destroy another Horcrux, a ring of Voldemort's grandfather, he concluded that each one would have to be considered in a different manner.

Though he was assuming for the time being that Voldemort was unaware of this quest, the fact remained that he still wanted Harry dead. His followers would be looking everywhere, and Harry supposed that more drastic measures than immobilising jinxes would be needed when they found him. He often found himself glancing through chapters on the Unforgivable Curses as he pondered this, but would any of these be of use to him? These were the Dark Arts, and it was the Dark Arts against which he was fighting. Which brought him back to his original question – How do you defeat a dark wizard? He now hoped that light would be shed on this matter in the lessons of which the new Hogwarts Headmistress had spoken.

As he lay on his bed with so many thoughts and feelings battling for attention, he was startled by the soft hooting of Hedwig, the snowy owl residing in the cage in the corner of the room. Harry blinked and looked at his alarm clock. It had just turned midnight. It was his birthday. Harry James Potter was seventeen years old, which, by wizard reckoning, made him now an adult. An adult who was accustomed to celebrating the occasion on his own. As he remembered fondly the gifts and birthday cakes that had been sent to him by the Weasleys in years past, and wondered whether he would be receiving any such pleasantries this year, he jumped as he heard a knocking at the door.

This was the first time a knock had not been accompanied with his name or a command being shouted impatiently. A little apprehensive, with wand drawn, he edged towards the door. As he reached for the handle, he wondered about the protection left on the house by Dumbledore. Then again, would anyone wishing to do him harm even bother knocking? He cautiously gripped the handle and opened the door.

What met his eyes on the other side was neither Death Eater nor Dementor, but Aunt Petunia. He hastily hid the wand from view and looked inquiringly at his aunt, who was looking a little nervous.

"Err…yes?"

She took a few short, quick breaths and gave a shaky smiled. This was also a first. Harry couldn't remember any of the Dursleys ever smiling genuinely at him, aside from when he was being made an object of ridicule, but this looked as if she was actually happy for him. Nevertheless, her voice was still quiet and vaguely reluctant.

"H…h…happy birthday Harry."

He stood facing her in a stunned silence. He had thought for a long time that his aunt, uncle or cousin Dudley didn't even know when his birthday was, or if they did, they did a fine job of ignoring it.

"Erm…thank you" he replied.

Aunt Petunia gazed awkwardly around her for a few seconds, then as if suddenly remembering, she indicated an envelope that she held in her hand.

"I…uh, brought you something" she said, offering it to him.

Harry managed a grateful smile and took it.

"Would you err…mind if I came in for a while?" she asked rather humbly, "There are things I need to tell you."

Harry had thought that after all he had seen in the world of witchcraft and wizardry, there was nothing in the world of muggles that could surprise him. That was until now. He nodded to her, walked across the room and cleared the books off his bed.

"Have a seat" he said, gesturing politely.

His aunt sat down in silence and he sat beside her, still puzzling over what this could be about. Briefly toying with the idea that she had been put under the Imperius Curse, he looked down at the fairly thick envelope.

"Oh, go ahead, you can open it" she said, trying to sound reassuring, "I understand that it won't be the way you're used to seeing things like this."

Harry opened the envelope and saw that it was, for the most part, full of photographs. He understood what she had meant straight away. The people in the pictures were perfectly still, while in the photography Harry had grown used to seeing, they would have been animated in whatever they happened to be doing when the picture was taken. The first photo he pulled out was of a couple whom Harry had never seen before.

"Those are your grandparents, my mother and father," she said, with a slight crack in her voice.

Harry realised that this was the first time he had really thought about his blood relatives any further back than his own parents and for a moment felt a little ashamed that he had never asked his aunt about them before. The next picture caught Harry's attention very quickly. Though it was taken some years before any of the other photos he had himself, there was no mistaking the eyes that he saw every time he had looked in the mirror. All of a sudden, he felt a lump in his throat and a familiar stinging in his eyes. He blinked, swallowed hard, and looked back at the photo.

"That's me and my younger sister Lily, your…mother," said Aunt Petunia, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

"You both look very happy there," replied Harry, who shared her awkwardness in full.

"We were on holiday at the time, and yes, we used to be a very happy family," she said, trying so hard to seem breezy and relaxed that Harry had rarely seen her so tense. Aunt Petunia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and finally looked ready to say what was on her mind.

"Harry, there are things you should understand. We _were_ a happy family. Our parents were proud of both their young daughters, both named after flowers that grew in their garden. I worked so hard to please them at every step of the way, and showed them that I could be a positive role model for my sister"

Harry resisted the temptation to make a snide comment about how things turned out, and she continued.

"I was so pleased with the way things were, that I even tried to overlook some of the strange things she did. At first I thought she just wanted to express herself in a different way," she said wistfully, before her expression and voice suddenly darkened, "But then our mother and father started making a fuss over her like they had never done before. Everything she did was special. There would be letters sent home from school to tell them what a wonderful pupil I was, a shining example to so many, but before long, they hardly noticed such praise. My sister, oh so special, oh so perfect, was getting all the attention!"

No matter how Harry had been treated by this woman in the past, and how sorely he wanted to interrupt, he also knew what it was like to let out anger and frustration, so he remained silent, merely staring at his aunt.

"With all her magical nonsense, being offered a place at a special school, our parents were overjoyed. But what of _me_? I worked even harder, did everything I could, but none of it seemed to matter at all! Lily was their only concern! I tried telling her that all those loony things she did with her spell books and hocus pocus rubbish would only lead to trouble, but she never listened to me. You know, time was in this country when someone like her would have been burned at the stake for the things she did! But oh, how the tables have turned. SHE WAS 'SPECIAL'! SHE WAS A WITCH! AND YET I WAS THE OUTCAST, JUST BECAUSE I WAS NORMAL! HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MADE ME FEEL!"

Aunt Petunia had turned away, but Harry could still see a tear running down her cheek. She wiped her eyes on her nightdress and went on.

"When I met your uncle, I knew I could finally put it all behind me. He just wanted normality in his life, just like I did. There's nothing wrong with wanting a peaceful existence without extraordinary goings-on. I won't say I wasn't sorry when Lily died, but it was all because she was part of _that_ world!"

Her face then seemed to soften.

"You must understand therefore, how difficult it was for me when we opened our front door one morning, to find my dear departed sister's baby wrapped in a blanket and accompanied by a letter from a wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore. Despite all the assurances in the letter, I couldn't help the feeling that we had been put in danger because of what had happened to Lily, and bear in mind, we were only just getting settled after being blessed with Dudley."

Harry stifled a laugh, wondering if the word 'blessed' was entirely appropriate.

"So let me tell you that there was a great deal of resentment on our part when we took you in, and I will not be blamed for that. And I'm sorry if you haven't had the perfect life here these seventeen years, but rest assured, there was a reason behind it. I just thought it was time that you heard it all, and better from me than from your Uncle Vernon."

This, Harry understood perfectly, but he now had a question to ask.

"What about the oath you made?"

Aunt Petunia gave him a brief, unenthusiastic smile.

"It was all in the letter. Because I was a blood relative of Lily's, you would have some kind of magical protection while you remained here. There were two reasons why you never wound up in an orphanage back then. One was that Dumbledore assured us that we would be in no danger ourselves, though after poor Dudley was attacked the year before last, I began to have doubts," she shot a dark look in Harry's direction, "and the other was that I feared there would be worse trouble if we did not at least put a roof over your head. But that's what we did Harry, and the fact is you are still alive. Don't think that I've been completely unaware that your life has been in danger. No matter what you've been put through, I fulfilled this blood oath that your headmaster told me was so important, because now you're seventeen-"

"And now you want me out of here, is that what you're saying? Well don't worry, because soon I'll be gone for good!" he cut in.

His aunt looked vaguely shocked at this.

"Leave? Harry, I have watched you grow from a baby into an adult. It is the danger and grief that I think of when I look at you, and the fact that you just belong to a different world that has stopped me from treating you like a son. I'm not asking you to leave, and I never would."

Despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't stop a tear running down his own cheek.

"I won't deny the number of times I've wished to be anywhere but here, but you're right, I'm still alive. You have fulfilled the oath," he said, drying his eyes on his sleeve. "But I will be leaving tomorrow anyway. The new headmistress will be picking me up in the afternoon."

"New headmistress? You mean Dumbledore retired?"

"Err, yes" he replied, not wishing to provoke further discussion on the subject, "Listen, whatever danger I'm in now, it isn't something that any of you deserve to suffer, so I'm leaving by my own choice."

They both got to their feet, and Harry, not altogether sure why it seemed the right thing to do, held out his hand. Aunt Petunia looked down at it, and then held out her own hand to shake his, slowly and solemnly. Their eyes met in whatever understanding there could be between them, and with that, she slowly turned to leave.

She stopped as she reached the door, and faced him with what she hoped was an encouraging look.

"I'm sure you will make some young witch very happy one day" she said.

Harry then smiled himself.

"Thank you" were the only words he could find.

After his aunt had gone back to bed, he fell into an oddly peaceful sleep, dreaming of the red-headed witch to whom he wished he could give all the happiness in the world.

Uncle Vernon, meanwhile, had fallen asleep in a chair by the living room window, dreaming of pulling a pair of local youths all the way to the police station by their hair for damaging his property.


	3. He's Leaving

Chapter 3 – "He's Leaving"

Privet Drive was bathed in pleasantly warm sunlight that cut blindingly through the gaps in the curtains of number four and painfully awoke Uncle Vernon, who had been slumped lazily back in an armchair, drooling in his sleep. It was the last day of July, and Vernon would be only too pleased to see the back of this particular month, one that had been far from easy on him.

He had been working a lot harder since his promotion at work, or to be more precise, he had to shout louder at more people for longer periods of time.

"You have to bawl the odds at them morning, noon, and night if you expect any work out of them" he had complained to his family during the first two weeks of his new position, "Only language the ignorant little buggers understand. Bloody unions…"

This was coupled with having to question Dudley about a bottle of fine scotch whiskey that had gone missing from his drinks cabinet, a task that had dragged on for days, as Dudley had usually stormed out of the house, or at least up to his room, whenever he felt accused of being the guilty party. Harry knew for a fact that Dudley had been responsible, and had even witnessed Dudley sneaking in of a night time, reeking of alcohol. He preferred not to voice his suspicions to his aunt or uncle, who would refuse to believe that their cherished son was capable of such delinquent behaviour.

Last but not least, the past few nights of catching only a few hours sleep had made him even more irritable than normal. The police assured him that they were doing everything in their power to apprehend those responsible for the damage, which was no easy task with Uncle Vernon ranting and raving at them over the phone about how much it was costing to have his car repaired, and still he insisted that vigilantism was the only solution.

Upstairs, Harry Potter had been awake for a couple of hours, and had been having mixed thoughts about this, his last day of living under the Dursley's roof. He had been there for sixteen years, and the only happiness he had known was his time at Hogwarts. The Dursleys had made a thorough job of making him feel unwelcome for as long as he could remember, in fact his first bedroom had been the cupboard under the stairs, and any clothing he received had always been that which Dudley had grown out of, often tattered and worn. He had been bullied and humiliated by them on so many occasions that he had stopped counting, but now he was wondering which was worse - all his years in this house or the mortal danger that the outside world now had in store for him.

His reflections were interrupted by the sight of two owls flying towards his bedroom window. He brightened a little and opened the window for them. These were the third and fourth owls of the day so far, the first two having brought birthday gifts from Hagrid (a book called 'Beasts of the Dark Arts', accompanied by a picture of his cottage, now restored after being set on fire by Death Eaters), and from Lupin and Tonks (a book on advanced magical defence and disguise).

Hedwig had become used to strange owls delivering packages here, and so remained quiet and content on her perch. Having given the owls some food and water for their trouble, Harry examined the deliveries. One was a brief letter from Professor McGonagall:

Dear Harry,

I shall be collecting you from your aunt and uncle's house at 5 o'clock this afternoon, so please be ready and waiting at this time. All precautions have been taken in the meanwhile to ensure that no one else will have knowledge of your whereabouts, and certain enchantments have been placed on The Burrow to guarantee your safety during your stay there.

I will of course trust your judgement regarding what need be said to your relatives before you depart, but please exercise both caution and restraint, as these were never your father's strong points, if you get my meaning.

Take care,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Harry gave a small laugh at this last piece of advice and pocketed the letter. The other item he received was a copy of the Daily Prophet, the preferred newspaper of the magical population. The front page headline screamed 'BREAK-IN AT THE MINISTRY!', accompanied by the moving image of various officials from the ministry of magic attempting to push their way through a small crowd of reporters and onlookers. Harry read the article with great interest.

'Official sources confirmed last night that there has been yet another break-in at the ministry of magic, specifically, in the Department of Mysteries. Though remaining highly secretive over the whole affair, Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour issued the following statement:

"I can now reveal that there has indeed evidence found of an unauthorised entry in the Department of Mysteries. For reasons currently unknown to us, this was only discovered some days after the event took place, and the culprit or culprits appear to have covered their tracks most thoroughly. I am not at liberty to divulge any information regarding any theft of ministry property at present, though further statements will be issued to the press, should it be deemed appropriate. There is no, repeat _no_ evidence whatsoever to suggest that this was the work of those who follow He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and any reports to the contrary are both false and irresponsible. We have many of our staff investigating this affair, and I can assure you that no stone will be left unturned, as we get to the root of the matter"

'We have been refused any further details of the case, but will continue in our efforts to uncover the truth. For all other ministry news, please turn to pages 5-6'

Harry felt a slight sinking feeling in his stomach. News such as this, in his experience, was always a sign of serious trouble on the horizon.

Since his meeting with Professor McGonagall the night before, he had been once again wondering about the Weasleys, and why he hadn't received so much as single owl from them. The fact that they hadn't sent any presents, or even birthday greetings could mean one of two things. Either that they thought they might as well wait for his arrival at The Burrow later in the day or that Ginny had told them of how Harry had broken off their relationship and they would now be looking daggers at him. The latter of these theories would certainly explain why he hadn't heard a word from them since leaving Hogwarts, birthday or no birthday.

The peace was then disturbed by the familiar yell of Uncle Vernon, and with a roll of his eyes, Harry left the quiet of his room and went downstairs, now relieved that this would be his last day in Privet Drive. He wandered into the living room, preparing to be interrogated about this or that.

"Ah, there you are" his uncle observed, with more than a slight hint of contempt in his voice, "Just had old Mrs Figg calling round here, claiming you scared her cats half to death yesterday, and now they won't budge out of doors. Now don't you try wriggling your way out of this one boy! Mad as a brush she may be, but I wouldn't put _anything_ past you, and you're going over there right now to sort this out!"

"Okay, I'm going!" replied Harry abruptly.

Harry had felt far more well-disposed towards Mrs Figg, ever since he had the shock of finding out that she was a squibb, a person of part-magical blood who was nevertheless considered to be neither a wizard nor witch. Knowing full well that his relatives were all blissfully unaware of this, and having a strong feeling that this had nothing to do with her cats, Harry did his best to look indignantly at Uncle Vernon, and then smiled to himself as he left the room.

"Oh, and I told her you'd clean out that filthy guttering of hers too!" his uncle called after him smugly.

This cheered Harry even more, and he added to the desired effect by slamming the door on his way out.

It was a very short walk to Mrs Figg's house, and after ringing the bell, the door was quickly answered. Mrs Figg looked pale, but there was no doubt that she was delighted with her visitor.

"Harry Potter," she said in an awestruck tone that reminded Harry of his first meeting with Dobby the house elf, "my dear boy, come in, come in!"

She gave Harry a warm hug and he followed her into the living room. This was the first time he had received such a welcome from her, as she had been appointed by Dumbledore to watch over Harry whenever possible while he was growing up, and this involved playing the part of an insufferable neighbour to whom the Dursleys would be only too pleased to send Harry when they went out without him.

"I've heard the news that you're leaving today" she said as they sat down.

Harry nodded.

"Well, now you're here, you'd better make yourself useful. There's a tray in the kitchen with a pot of tea and some chocolates" she paused and smiled at him, "but I don't think either of us will need to get up for that now…"

Harry gave a huge grin, drew his wand, and with his heart pounding, summoned the tray in from the kitchen and guided it gently down on to the table in front of them. It was the first time he had been able to legally perform magic outside of school, and Mrs Figg looked as though she would cry tears of joy.

"Oh Harry, well done!" she cried, "You've grown into a fine young wizard, and no mistake!"

This was definitely a comfort to hear, and Harry wished that he had known what his neighbour was really like a long time ago. As various cats made their way in and out of the room, the unavoidable subject of Dumbledore's death arose. They had both been present at the funeral, had both mourned his passing, but Mrs Figg knew perfectly well that she grief she had felt was nothing to Harry's.

"He was a great man, and no one could replace him, Harry" she said, blinking back a tear, "and I know how much you meant to him. Everyone's afraid now. Afraid of what will happen now that he's gone. But I believe that as long as his memory lives on, and as long your courage holds, the Dark Arts will not stand victorious".

Harry sat there, simply wanting to believe everything she said. Even though she did not live in the thick of the wizarding world, Arabella Figg was certainly no stranger to its goings-on. On her travels, she had become familiar with both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons schools of magic, and many of the weird and wonderful creatures that Harry had learned about during his time at Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore kept me informed of how well you were progressing at school, and through all the danger you faced, I always had a feeling that you would come out stronger on the other side. Sixteen years with the Dursleys, for example, isn't something I'd wish on anyone" she shuddered at the thought.

Harry reflected on this time with mixed feelings. Had it been a necessity for him to have been through all that? The abuse, the intimidation, the misery and victimisation? Might he not have become that brave wizard if he had grown up in a loving home?

"You know, I did ask Dumbledore if he would let you live here with me. I asked him after I saw you for the first time, and no matter how many times he told me that you were living with your aunt and uncle for your own protection, I asked him many times more." she smiled, "Though he had the patience and good nature to endure it and repeat himself when he had to."

They both sat there in silence for a few moments, both contemplating what life would have been like Mrs Figg's request had been granted. She then looked at him with great curiosity.

"Tell me something Harry. Did my eyes deceive me at the funeral, or is there a special young lady in your life?"

Harry was finding it hard to look her in the eye at this point.

"There was" he muttered in reply.

"Ah, was it not meant to be?" she enquired.

"She _is_ a special young lady," said Harry, alarming himself that he was confiding this in Mrs Figg of all people, "and I want her to stay that way, which is why I can't be with her."

She nodded in understanding.

"Growing up isn't easy Harry, whether you're a witch, a wizard, a squibb, or a muggle. There are always truths we don't want to face, even though we must."

These words weren't exactly a comfort, but in Harry's case, wiser words were rarely spoken.

After bidding farewell to Mrs Figg, he made his way slowly back to his house, pausing on the way to rub some dirt down his clothes and across his face. He didn't quite relish the idea of being questioned by Uncle Vernon as to why he had returned so fresh in appearance after cleaning out Mrs Figg's guttering. He glanced at his watch. It was half past one. Three and a half hours before he would be leaving Privet Drive for good. Three and a half hours of serious thought.

Uncle Vernon was waiting in the living room for him, attempting to fight back a laugh at seeing Harry covered in mud. Anything to know that little freak was having a taste of 'real work', he thought.

"Ah Harry, Petunia tells me that you're leaving us today."

Harry grunted in the affirmative.

"Well make sure that room of yours is cleared out properly. I've had a view to converting it into a study for some time now." His uncle replied, turning his back.

Harry stood there for a moment in slight disbelief. No matter what else Uncle Vernon was, he was still human (as far as Harry knew), and it was still somewhat difficult to accept that after sixteen years, this was all the man could come out with. So be it, he thought, and tramped back up to his room.

As he opened the door, he was startled by the sudden appearance of Dobby, the house elf, a few yards in front of him.

"Harry Potter sir! So wonderful it is to see the young master come of age!"

Allowing his heartbeat to return to normal, Harry managed a smile.

"Dobby, could you try not to sneak up on me like that? I've got a lot on my mind at the moment."

He was now past caring what his uncle or aunt would do if they saw Dobby in the house, and was a lot calmer about seeing him than he was when Dobby first appeared in his room five years previously, but this was still a jolt to his nerves that he could have done without.

"Oh, Dobby understands sir, but he could not stay away. He wanted to give Harry Potter his birthday present."

Harry sat down beside him and sighed.

"Okay, what did you get me?"

"First of all, this" replied Dobby, handing him a large birthday cake with icing all the colours of the rainbow, spelling 'Happy Birthday' on the top. Harry was a good deal cheered by this, as he still hadn't eaten much that day. He could tell that this was all Dobby's doing from the plasters on his fingers and the flour and icing stains on the pillow case that he always wore.

"And also, Dobby brought Harry Potter something special!" the house elf exclaimed.

He gave Harry a badly wrapped package that he tore open quickly, expecting to find yet another offering of bizarre woollen garments, but instead found himself gaping in astonishment at the contents. It was a finely embroidered wizard's hat.

"But Dobby…this is…how did you…?"

"It was given to Dobby by Professor Dumbledore, sir. He thought Harry Potter would like it for his birthday instead of socks. Was the professor correct sir?"

Harry couldn't help himself. The tears streamed from his eyes and he nodded as he hid his face in his hands, and cried silently. Instead of shuffling about awkwardly, punishing himself for upsetting a wizard, or disappearing into thin air, Dobby put an arm round his shoulder.

"Dobby knows that Harry Potter has suffered, but Harry Potter is strong and will always know what to do!" he said insistently.

Harry held in his hands a hat of Albus Dumbledore's. It was almost too much for him to bear that his mentor, the greatest wizard he had ever known, was dead. For the time being, he couldn't withstand the pain that the sight of this hat was bringing him. He quietly stood up, walked across the room to his trunk, opened it, and placed the hat carefully inside. After drying his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, he turned around and smiled at Dobby, who now was looking decidedly awkward.

"Thank you," he said.

Dobby made a low bow and smiled back.

"Does sir wish to be left alone?"

Now that he considered this, Harry decided that even the company of an emotionally fragile house elf would be welcome.

"No, that's alright, you can stay for a while" he replied, adding absently "would you like a drink or something to eat?"

Now it was Dobby's turn to cry. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realised how they must have sounded to a house elf whose sole purpose had been to serve others. He tried desperately to calm him down, and eventually managed to get some sense out of him.

"Oh, Harry Potter is too kind! Too kind, sir!" spluttered Dobby between sobs.

"No, no, it's okay!" said Harry

"Dobby wishes he had served Harry Potter from the beginning!"

Harry tried not to laugh at the thought of Uncle Vernon's reaction to finding out that there was a house elf in his home, waiting hand and foot on the nephew he so deeply despised.

"Dobby listen, just relax for a while. I need to just clean a few things up in here and then – "

He was then stopped short by the lightning fast blurry shape of Dobby flying around the room, leaving every object spotlessly clean and tidied away in his wake. He couldn't help but be impressed when the poor creature finally reappeared beside him on the bed, not in the least bit short of breath.

"That was amazing! I've seen cleaning spells and charms work fast, but – "

"It is a house elf's job, sir," cut in Dobby with proud sense of duty.

In the time they spent discussing everything from the Malfoys (during which Harry had tried to cheer Dobby up with the tale of when Draco had been transfigured into a ferret at school, though subsequently had to prevent Dobby from throwing himself through the window for laughing at his old masters) to what the house elves at Hogwarts had been told about any changes to school routine over the coming year (Dobby had not yet been informed and had thought it impertinent to ask the new headmistress about this), there were only two loud interruptions from Uncle Vernon, and these were simply to ensure that he would be leaving his bedroom immaculately tidy. This led Harry to believe that Aunt Petunia had somehow intervened, though how she would have done this without arousing suspicion from her husband, he had not the faintest idea.

While levitating various objects around the room, Harry brought his birthday cake floating before him, which reminded both of them how Dobby had used a similar charm on a large dessert of the Dursleys' with disastrous consequences, one evening shortly before the start of Harry's second year at Hogwarts. Dobby smiled guiltily at this and even laughed a little.

Harry glanced at his watch and realised with horror how the time had passed. He now had only half an hour until the arrival of Professor McGonagall. He quickly wrapped up the cake and stored it in his trunk, along with his with his other books and the photos he had been given by Aunt Petunia.

"I don't mean to be rude Dobby, but I have to be going soon, and I think you'd better be making yourself scarce. I just don't want my aunt and uncle finding you here. The faster I can see the back of this place, the better."

Dobby nodded and smiled, gesturing that no explanation was necessary, winked at Harry, and disapparated with a 'pop'. Harry wasted no time in lugging his heavy trunk downstairs, and as usual, his uncle emerged into the hallway to demand what "all the bloody racket" was about.

"Well", said Harry, drawing his wand "there is another way I could move it, but – "

"Alright, alright, just put that confounded thing away, we'll have none of your conjuring tricks here!" Uncle Vernon hissed.

Harry grinned at this, and pulled his trunk the rest of the way into the hall. Moments later, Aunt Petunia came out of the kitchen and hovered awkwardly in the hallway, waiting for Harry to return with Hedwig.

"So, uh when is your teacher collecting you?" she asked, trying to sound as numb as possible, as he descended the stairs.

"She should be getting here at five" he replied.

After a long pause, she said quietly "Well, you can wait in the living room until she arrives. I know it can get a bit cold up there".

Even though this was his plan anyway (despite the twitching, pacing, and generally annoying presence of Uncle Vernon on such occasions), the fact that she was actually _inviting_ him in was breaking the habit of a lifetime. As he sat down on the sofa, Uncle Vernon had already began his pacing, and comments such as "That room of yours had better be clear for when I move my desk in." and "All I hope is that this one has the decency to use the front door."

Uncle Vernon had been infuriated with the manner in which wizards had invaded his home in the past, and was now crossing his fingers that he would not be subjected to the same grand entrance of three years ago, when four members of the Weasley family had demolished the fireplace and a portion of the surrounding wall after arriving via the chimney.

Harry was still quietly fuming that although these would be his final minutes in this house, he hadn't heard so much as a "Good luck" from his uncle, only his usual grumbling. The time was ticking by, and it was only at five to five that Uncle Vernon swooped down upon Harry with sudden inspiration.

"And you'd better not have been light-fingered around this house, boy! How am I to know what you've got in that trunk that isn't yours?"

This was the last straw. The red mist came over Harry's eyes, and he leapt up in a rage, standing nose to nose with his uncle. Aunt Petunia stood rooted to the spot in panic at the edge of the room. There were so many things Harry could say right now. So much negative emotion to express. So much anger, hatred, grief, and resentment that could have fired out of his mouth. The storm was just about to break when the sound of Dudley's bedroom door opening came from upstairs. All at once, Harry calmed himself.

"I'm, uh just going out dad" Dudley called out.

"Okay Dudders, see you later" Uncle Vernon replied breezily, before returning the venomous stare to his nephew.

"_I'm_ not the thief around here," said Harry coldly.

"And what exactly do you mean by THAT!" seethed his uncle.

Harry then pushed him aside, spun into the hallway and drew his wand in one swift motion.

"LEVICORPUS!" he yelled, and before Dudley could open the front door, he cried out in painful surprise as he found himself being hoisted upside down by his ankle until his foot was touching the ceiling. Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia rushed into the hall, wailing in alarm at the sight of their son being suspended in the air by what seemed to be an invisible force, with his sports bag still hanging from his shoulder. Vernon looked to be on the point of choking Harry to death, and was only restrained by the sight of the wand that was now turned on him.

"You get him down this instant!" he shouted, "I'll have you locked up for this, you ungrateful little circus freak!"

"Please Harry, just stop this!" moaned Aunt Petunia.

Harry turned back to his near hysterical cousin.

"_Accio Lochnagar_!" he cried.

Dudley's bag split open, and Uncle Vernon stared in amazement as his prized bottle of matured scotch whiskey came flying out of it towards him, half empty. The rest of the bag's contents, including cigarettes, an airgun, and Uncle Vernon's pack of rude playing cards had spilled out on to the floor. Uncle Vernon himself looked as if the large vein in his head was about to burst through, but was too dumbfounded to speak.

There came a knock on the front door, but no one moved. Lowering his wand slightly, Harry walked towards the door, muttering "_Liberacorpus_" as he passed Dudley, who then fell with a crash to the ground and lay there whimpering, and opened it.

Professor McGonagall looked through the door, first at Harry, then at the wretched and fearful shape of his cousin on the floor, and finally at his aunt and uncle who could do nothing but gape speechlessly. Harry wasn't sure whether this was because of the magic he had performed, which his guardians had loathed in every way, or because of the revelation that their darling son Dudley was not the picture of innocence that they believed him to be.

"Everything alright here, Potter?" she enquired casually.

"Yes, everything's just fine" he replied, reaching for the handle of his trunk, "we were just sorting out a small misunderstanding."

"Would you like a moment to say your farewells?"

Harry looked back at his aunt and uncle, and then at his cousin, sorely tempted to give him the same pig's tail that Hagrid had given him six years ago, possibly accompanied with a snout for good measure.

"I think some things are best left unsaid."

"As you wish,", smiled the headmistress, "I have had permission from the ministry for us to travel to the Burrow by a portkey," she continued, conjuring a silver plate out of the air.

Harry understood, and placed Hedwig's cage on top of his trunk. Professor McGonagall took out her wand and pointed it at the plate in her other hand.

"_Portus_," she whispered.

Tightly gripping the handle of his trunk, Harry Potter took one last look around the home he had endured since he was one year old. Nodding resolutely, he grasped the plate and vanished, along with his teacher and all his possessions, leaving the Dursely family to wonder in astonishment about what they had just witnessed, and live under the pretence that they had never in fact met their extraordinary nephew.


	4. A Few Well Chosen Words

Chapter 4 – A Few Well Chosen Words

Harry and Professor McGonagall arrived with a jolt outside the Burrow. It was a house that Harry had always loved, with its five smoking chimneys and peaceful surroundings that made it a most welcome change from Privet Drive. But on this occasion, he knew that there would be a great deal of tension coupled with this particular visit. Somewhere in that house, Harry reflected, was someone who would most definitely not be giving him a warm welcome, if any at all, even if everyone else did. Somewhere in that house was Ginny Weasley.

The Professor knocked loudly on the door. It was opened by Bill Weasley, the eldest son, who Harry knew would shortly be getting married to a French Witch called Fleur Delacour. Bill's face had been scarred after he had recently been set upon by Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf in the service of Lord Voldemort, but he seemed to be in the highest of spirits.

"Hello Professor!" he said, shaking her warmly by the hand, "Come in, both of you; can't have you hanging about on the doorstep!"

After bewitching Harry's trunk to find its own way up to his room whilst carrying a slightly uncomfortable Hedwig (a charm that Harry had never yet seen the like of), Bill sat them down at the kitchen table.

"I'm afraid there's only a few of us here. Charlie arrived yesterday, but he's at the ministry with dad. Mum's gone off to Hogsmead with Fleur and her parents, and Fred and George are still at work in Diagon Alley" he said apologetically, "Still, you two must be hungry – "

"Actually Bill, do you think I might be able to take a walk with you around the garden", cut in Professor McGonagall, "there are a few matters of The Order that I would very much like to discuss".

Bill followed McGonagall's gaze to the other side of the room and nodded.

"Erm, okay. Shall we?"

Harry was just about to protest that he was being unfairly excluded, when he glanced around to where they had been looking, and for the first time noticed Ron, Bill's youngest brother, sitting with his back to them on the stairs. He understood perfectly, but was very distracted at how Ron had managed to apparate there un-noticed.

"Oh, and Happy Birthday Harry!" Bill smiled as they left the house.

A little apprehensively, Harry sidled over and sat down near his friend.

"Hi Ron," he said edgily.

Ron grunted in acknowledgement. Harry felt he could have cut the air in here with a knife. Perhaps a little more conversation.

"So, how are you?" he enquired.

"Mmk, I s'pose."

This was progress at least, he thought.

"I've seen the last of my aunt and uncle now. Hopefully I managed to get my cousin in real trouble with them."

"Yeah" came the reply

Alright, so not _that_ much progress, but what could he say?

"So," he began, "how is everyone?" This seemed desperate, but Ron finally put down the book of the past year's greatest Quidditch moments that he was pretending to read, and looked at Harry.

"She's hardly left her room since we got back from school," he said, getting sharpishly to the point somewhat faster than had Harry bargained for, "I don't think she's spent more than half an hour down here in a single day, in fact, she might as well not have been in the house at all a few days ago. Fred rolled out some extendable ears outside her door and said he couldn't hear movement or even hear her breathing. She's eating about enough to keep her alive, but not much more."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, wondering whether he preferred the silence to the floodgates he had now opened.

"So she told you everything?" he asked.

"She didn't want to" Ron replied, "When she looked all miserable on the train home and wouldn't tell me why, I didn't ask her again, but do you honestly think that with mum, dad, and four of her brothers in the house, nobody managed to get the truth out of her? She may be stubborn, but this family can make _anyone_ fold under pressure."

Harry saw the sense in this.

"So everyone knows?"

"Well, once mum found out, it was common knowledge within about a day," said Ron with a roll of his eyes.

He could see a genuine look of concern on Harry's face, and decided that it was time to be a friend to him once again.

"Look mate, I can understand why you felt you had to call a halt to the whole thing. It's not like I can judge you for it, because we're not in the same boat, but _you_ have to understand that Ginny's still my sister, and I can't exactly be thrilled at something that's turned her like this," he said.

Harry nodded in understanding. He knew what Ron meant, even though he had never had any brothers or sisters.

"Anyway, listen I forgot to say, Hermione said she wanted a word with you as soon as you got here," said Ron.

Harry brightened a little.

"Oh yeah, I forgot she was here already," he said, rising to his feet, "but to be honest with you, I'm surprised she isn't cuddled up beside you".

Ron twitched irritably at this, but Harry could clearly see a bashful smile breaking through.

"Alright, so I do like her a lot more than I used to, but there's no need to be like that about it!" he said indignantly.

Harry smiled and made his way past Ron and up the stairs.

"She's in Percy's old room this time," Ron called after him.

As Harry climbed the stairs, he heard rapid, scurrying footsteps from the third floor, followed by a door slamming. He needed no one to tell him whose footsteps they were. As he opened the bedroom door, he was enthusiastically greeted by Hermione who rushed across the room to give him a hug.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad to see you!" she beamed.

"It's good seeing you too, Hermione" he replied, glancing over her shoulder at the various letters and copied of the Daily Prophet scattered about the room, "What exactly have you been doing here?"

"Oh, that's just me keeping myself informed," she said casually, "but tell me, what did your aunt and uncle say about you moving out?"

"I don't think they could find the words when I left."

Hermione nodded understandingly and changed the subject.

"I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to the wedding. You know, I've only ever been to a muggle wedding, when my cousin got married, but I've been reading up on how it works in magical circles…"

Harry smiled. This was the Hermione he knew, and it was very comforting to know that there were at least some things that would remain familiar and constant in these times of uncertainty. She had been like this since the first time he met her, always the bookworm who had helped him and Ron out on more occasions than he cared to remember.

"Yeah, I was curious about that" said Harry.

"Has Bill shown you where it's all taking place? Oh, and you _must_ meet Fleur's parents, they're – "

"Hermione," he interrupted sternly, "I've known you for six years now. Ron said you were anxious to speak to me as soon as I arrived, and you can't try and tell me this was all about my aunt and uncle OR the wedding. Be honest".

Hermione took a deep breath and looked at him with a slightly sorrowful expression.

"It's the calm before the storm, Harry" she said, "You know that better than most. All we're doing at the moment is holding on to whatever happiness we have."

This made Harry feel deeply ashamed of himself. She had made a good point, and he realised that there was no excuse for being so harsh.

"I'm sorry, I just feel like I can't put things in perspective anymore" he said, staring down at the floor.

"That's okay Harry, I understand" she replied, "And yes, there were other things I needed to speak to you about."

She sat down on the bed and took a few more breaths and bit her lip hesitantly.

"It's about certain choices you've made" she said finally.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I thought we'd be getting around to that sooner or later" he remarked, fixing a suspicious look on her, "Tell me, how did McGonagall know that I wasn't planning on going back to Hogwarts?"

Hermione didn't shrink from this line of questioning for a second.

"Harry, for your information, she overheard me and Ron talking about it when we didn't even know she was there. Even if she hadn't heard it from us, how long do you think it could have been kept secret, especially from her?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then realised he had no answer to this.

"Anyway, she told us that no matter what you were planning to do, you would need to go back there" she continued, "But she never told us exactly what you'd be doing there".

"She didn't tell me either" muttered Harry glumly.

There followed a few moments of deathlike silence, during which it was plain that Hermione had plenty to say, but was unusually unsure of how to say it.

"Is err…Ron still downstairs?" she ventured nervously.

"As far as I know" came the reply.

"Did he mention…um…Ginny at all?" she asked, looking as though she were about to try out one of Fred and George's more hazardous wizard wheezes.

"Yes, he did" replied Harry through clenched teeth, knowing all too well the path this conversation was about to take.

"Harry, she's very upset. She didn't even want me to share her room."

"I know she's upset, Ron told me all about it" he sighed, "but does everyone think that while she's been upset, I've just been having a laugh?"

"No, of course not! You know we would _never_ think that!" and then more quietly "Maybe if you just go and talk to her…"

"And what good would that do?" Harry snapped "You think she wants to see me, of all people, when she won't even speak to her own family? I did what had to be done, and it's bad enough dealing with that without everyone else turning on me for it!"

Hermione now felt it was time to get a grip on the situation.

"And you think what you did was right?" she asked.

Harry looked straight at her with a offended look of disbelief.

"What is that supposed to mean? Of course it was right! Have you even considered what the alternative was?"

"It's not all painted in black and white, Harry. Surely you must see that there were other ways" she said.

"Other ways?" he asked, irritably wondering what the point of this reasoning was, "Other ways? Do you not think I turned it all over a thousand times in my head before I told her I couldn't be with her? I didn't have a choice."

By now he was slowly pacing the length of the room, just as he had in his old room at Privet Drive.

"So there's no doubt in your mind that you did what you had to do?" Hermione offered, attempting to dig deeper.

This only served to worsen Harry's temper.

"It's not exactly a perfect world we're living in, Hermione, in case you hadn't noticed. Not all of us have the option of a happy life!"

Hermione scowled at this.

"I never said it was like that! But I'm sticking with the people I care about, and we can defend each other to the end! Why do you think you can't do the same for Ginny?"

Harry did his best to restrain himself from hexing her at this moment. He raked his fingertips down his face and stared his friend in the eye.

"Listen Hermione. I don't know where I'll have to go, and only a rough idea of who I'll have to meet on my way, but I'm not even sure if I can defend _myself_, never mind anyone else!"

She remained unconvinced.

"You know more about Voldemort than any of us Harry, and you know more about defence as well. I just –"

"Look, I thought you could see the reality of all this, but it really sounds like you don't!"

He paused to see a confused look of shock on Hermione's face, and continued, slowly and forcefully.

"My parents are dead! Sirius is dead! Dumbledore is dead! It's only by pure chance, and more than my fair share of luck, that we aren't sitting here three Weasleys short! Do you somehow think that Voldemort doesn't know how to hurt me? You think he doesn't know how to get to me! I did what I did because I had to! Even if I succeed, I might not live to come back, and I don't want to see anyone else killed because of me! Don't you understand!"

After these words had hung in the air for a few seconds, he turned his back and began pacing slowly again. There had been a question burning in Hermione's mind that she felt had to be asked, but just as she was debating whether now was the right time, she simply blurted it out.

"But Harry, is this what you actually want?"

Harry spun around and gave her an unwavering look that made her fear he would spontaneously combust on the spot, or even explode, taking the whole of The Burrow with him.

"OF COURSE IT'S NOT WHAT I WANT! I LOVE HER WITH ALL MY HEART, AND I ALWAYS WILL! IF THERE IS ANYTHING FOR ME BEYOND DEATH, I WILL LOVE HER THERE TOO! IF I THOUGHT THERE WAS ANY WAY I COULD PROTECT HER TO THE END, I WOULD BE HOLDING HER IN MY ARMS RIGHT NOW!"

Despite the shock of Harry's outburst, Hermione was now smiling warmly back at him. It was only in the following silence that they heard the quiet, tearful sniffing from outside, and before Harry could even turn towards the door, the sound of footsteps that rapidly ascended to the third floor, and a door slamming.

As Harry turned to leave, Hermione rose to her feet and pulled him back.

"Now isn't the time Harry. Just let her be."

Harry trod slowly across the room and sat down on the bed, feeling broken.

"Hermione, even if I fought my way through all Voldemort's followers and killed him, AND made it back alive, I don't know what I would do if anything happened to Ginny," he said, close to tears himself, "or _any_ of you, for that matter. I'd end up in St Mungo's Hospital for the rest of my life, not caring whether I lived or died."

She looked at him with fierce determination in her eyes.

"You _will_ succeed Harry. You _will_ find a way".


	5. Beyond the Realms of Sleep

Chapter 5 – Beyond the Realms of Sleep

Harry didn't know if he could face the rest of the Weasleys that evening. It was painful enough walking past Ginny's room on his way up to the top floor of the house. Rather than apparating up to Ron's room, he had forced himself to do this, if only to hear the sound of her breathing and to catch that scent that filled him with a deep longing. He still reminded himself that her safety was more important than anything.

As he approached Ron's bedroom door, he heard the sound of uncontrollable laughter. He opened the door and came face to face with two Ron's, one of whom was sporting a large, spiky pink and blue hairstyle.

"Oh Harry!" said the other Ron through bouts of giggles, "You _must_ try these! They're one of Fred and George's brand new creations. They're called 'Copycat Crackers'. You just throw one to the floor and another you appears! It's all still being developed and improved, so at the moment the other you only lasts a few minutes and can't do much, but you can do anything you want to _them_!"

He took out his wand again and transfigured his twin's nose into a baby elephant's trunk. Even Harry cracked a smile at this, especially as the copy of Ron seemed perfectly happy to stand there while his features were amusingly jinxed and contorted. Harry was relieved to find this distraction, and had Ron rolling on the floor laughing as his jinxes became more and more creative and ridiculous. Then suddenly, Ron's twin gave them an oddly quizzical look, before descending into a small pile of ash on the floor.

"Oh well" sighed Ron, "like I said, Fred and George are still working on them."

As the two of them sat down, they could both feel the tension ease. No matter how they had argued in the past, both knew that it was a friendship that could withstand a lot of punishment. Although, Harry's smile faded as they heard a commotion downstairs that clearly signified the arrival of one or more family members. Ron saw the look on his face and stood up.

"Don't worry, I'll go and find out who's there. If they ask, I'll just say you feel rotten after eating a puking pastel on an empty stomach."

"Thanks Ron," he said, grateful that he had such an understanding friend.

A second after Ron disappeared, Harry heard a shriek of surprise from the kitchen that told him it was Mrs Weasley who had just got home. He wondered idly if Professor McGonagall was still there, and also what Hermione had been researching in her room. It had already seemed like a long day, and he wasn't prepared to be interrogated by Molly Weasley as to why he had left her only daughter heartbroken.

After what seemed an eternity of charming every small object in sight and listening to the comings and goings below him, Harry heard a knock on the door. This couldn't be Ron. Since passing his apparition test, Ron had barely felt the need to even walk from one room to another, and this novelty would be slow to wear off.

"Come in," he answered.

The door swung open and Professor McGonagall walked in.

"Well Harry, it's time for me to go," she said, smiling warmly at him "There are many things I must attend to before the new school year begins. Your friends Ron and Hermione are still downstairs talking to Molly, and the rest of the family are sitting out in the garden. I took the liberty of suggesting to them that it might be best to allow you some solitude for this evening. You, of course have the freedom to go down and talk to them if you wish."

"Thank you Professor," he replied.

He knew he couldn't keep this up. The Weasleys had shown him every kindness in the world, and had made him feel like part of the family. It already felt like he was abusing their hospitality.

"Now listen," she continued, "I cannot stress enough how important it is that you stay close to your friends before returning to Hogwarts, and I would also advise a great deal of reading to arm you for the year ahead."

Harry nodded. It sounded much like the advice he would have expected from Albus Dumbledore, and so he took it without question. He rose to his feet as she turned to go, and she turned back and hugged him tightly.

"Good luck Harry Potter!" she said, wiping a tear from her eye before disapparating.

He was just starting to feel comfortable with being alone again, when both Ron and Hermione burst into view on the very spot where the professor had just been standing.

"Would it be possible for you two to just walk upstairs?" asked Harry, recovering from the shock, "Muggles seem to manage that perfectly well, and I'd prefer not to die of a heart attack before school starts!"

"Sorry about that" began Hermione.

"We just came up here to bring you these" said Ron.

He held out a plate of sausage rolls and salad, which Harry took and placed beside him on the bed.

"Thanks for that. Now I just have to get my appetite back" he said, trying to sound as optimistic as he could.

Hermione looked very concerned.

"Look, if you want to be left alone, we can – "

"No, that's alright" he cut in.

He was about to ask why it required two of them to bring the food up, but thought better of it as he noticed that they were holding hands. He looked down and smiled to himself as stuffed one of the sausage rolls into his mouth. Feeling uncomfortable with them simply hovering beside him, he gestured to his friends to sit down.

"So, what are they saying downstairs?" he enquired.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other.

"I think that between us and McGonagall, we've just about managed to convince people that it's not fair for them to be angry at you," said Ron, "I think that Fred and George knew all along that you weren't the kind of person who would want to hurt anyone in this family. Just to warn you though, mum will still want to talk to you about this tomorrow, probably dad too."

Harry nodded in acceptance.

"Remember Harry, no matter what happens, you haven't lost any friends," added Hermione.

This was something Harry could only hope was true.

During the course of conversation, the subject of N.E.W.T requirements cropped up. Hermione was now in her element, and even rushed down to her room to fetch up some of the books that she had bought in advance for the final school year. This raised an almighty groan from Ron.

"Oh give it a rest Hermione! We've got a clear month ahead before we have to think about that, and you're already making my head hurt."

She gave him a reproving look.

"Ronald Weasley, do I need to remind you how many times you've had to copy from my notes and asked me to make the corrections in your homework? Did you stop to think that maybe a little more effort on your part might be wise this year?"

Ron snorted at this, and Harry grinned, but what was really hanging over their heads was the thought of what terror the coming year would bring. The mood needed to be brightened.

"How's Charlie by the way?" asked Harry.

"He's been making fun of Bill over the marriage" said Ron "says he should be staying single and free at his age. I think he's just jealous that Bill's managed to hold down a steady relationship."

"Of course he is" Hermione put in, "I think it's wonderful that he's getting married. It's brought the whole family together…well, maybe – "

She stopped short as she became aware of both her companions glaring at her. This was not simply because of the mention of Ron's sister, but also his older brother Percy, who had become estranged to the rest of the family after taking sides with both the former and current Minister of Magic against Dumbledore after the initial claims that Lord Voldemort had returned. The last time he had set foot in the house, he had left with both face and clothes covered in Christmas dinner.

The darkness had crept up on them, and Hermione lit the lamps in the room. Ron suggested a few rounds of exploding snap, then remembered that it might not be the best idea to cause such a disturbance as the night drew in.

"You know, I've been thinking," said Ron "who else do you think will be coming back to Hogwarts? You reckon there are going to be any new first years at all?"

This prompted a murmur of careful thought from the other two.

"All depends on what the parents think I suppose," muttered Hermione, "I haven't told mine what's been going on at all. I don't want to panic them if I can help it."

It was once again Harry who thought it his duty to lift the conversation from the depths to which it was heading.

"Hmmm…I wonder if err…Lavender or Romilda will be coming back?" he ventured, trying desperately not to laugh.

Even in the dimmed light, it was clear that Ron was turning a shade of beetroot red with embarrassment. It was a mutual feeling between the three of them that mingled with amusement, and in Hermione's case, residual jealousy.

In their previous year at Hogwarts, Ron and Lavender Brown, a fellow Gryffindor student, had a brief, predominantly hormone-driven relationship that had sparked a fiery anger in Hermione. Towards the end of this, Ron had unwittingly become infatuated with a girl called Romilda Vain after accidentally eating some chocolate cauldrons that contained a love potion intended for Harry.

After exchanging glances, it wasn't long before they were all shaking in silent mirth at the memory of this. The general mood had definitely improved, and both Ron and Harry were disappointed when Hermione announced that she was heading off to bed.

"And you should as well," she said, stifling a yawn before quickly adding "and before I forget, happy birthday Harry! Sorry I never said that before, there was just so much going on. Your present should be arriving tomorrow, I'm afraid I left it a little late."

"Yeah, happy birthday mate" said Ron hurriedly, "I got you a present, but I'll have to get it from downstairs."

Hermione smiled at this.

"Goodnight Ron," she said, leaning down and giving him a soft peck on the cheek.

Noticing Harry's smirk at this, Ron stood up, pulled Hermione back by her arm and held her close, gazing into her eyes. She looked at him in wonder and excitement.

"Well, I'm so glad you found the courage at last," she whispered dreamily.

The gap between them closed and in the gentle glow of Ron's bedroom, they shared a deep and passionate kiss. As he saw this exchange out of the corner of his eye, Harry felt a certain relief wash over him that this might signify the end of the petty quarrels he had found himself breaking up. He was content for his two best friends to take as long as they wanted, even when his relief was replaced by envy that he did not have that same happiness that they had now found.

After finally allowing Ron to have his face back, Hermione gave him a wink and disappeared down the stairs, leaving him staring after her like a lost puppy. Harry decided the time had come to alert Ron of his presence, and gave a discreet cough.

"Oh um, yeah," he mumbled, seeing the grin on his friend's face, "I'll be back in a second," and with that, he disapparated once again.

True to his word, he returned moments later with a present in his hand.

"Many happy returns mate," he smiled.

Harry thanked him and tore open the wrapping paper to find a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. He beamed at Ron.

"Don't worry, this stuff isn't poisoned!" Ron assured him.

After sharing a birthday drink, at which they had both simultaneously winced as it hit the back of their throats, they rolled over on to their beds. Harry could immediately feel the tide of sleep that was about to take him.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really happy for both of you."

"Thanks."

Harry peacefully drifted off, and felt like he was floating through clouds. It was a very comforting feeling, and he reached ahead of him, as though he was trying to pull his way through water.

Then suddenly, the clouds parted and he could see the ground far below him. Before he could strain his eyes at a closer look at where he was, he felt a searing hot pain cut through the lightening bolt scar on his forehead, and all at once, he was falling. Slowly at first, then faster and faster he plummeted to earth, the wind whistling harshly in his ears. Seeing how rapidly he was approaching the ground, he was almost certain that he would be killed, but as he braced himself for impact, he stopped dead about ten feet above, and floated gradually down to land.

He lay with his eyes closed on a patch of soft grass and let his fingers rake through it until he had the strength to pull himself up into a seating position. His back met what felt like a rough stone wall, and for the first time, he rubbed his eyes and looked about him. He was sitting in a graveyard.

Trying to remain calm, he turned his head this way and that, until he noticed that he was not alone. There was a shadowed figure propped up against a headstone a little way away from him. He crawled over to get a closer look.

"Hello?"

The figure didn't respond. Moving cautiously, he reached out and prodded the shoulder that protruded from behind the stone. This caused the figure to fall sideways to the ground, showing off dirty and faded Hogwarts robes with the tattered badge of Hufflepuff. The face was a sickening blend of green, yellow and grey, having obviously been left out for the elements to do their worst. Harry realised in horror that he was looking at the decaying corpse of Cedric Diggory.

"But…but I took you back…I took you back!" he protested.

With these words, he found himself frozen to the spot, unable to move a muscle. He tried to reach for his wand, but every one of his limbs was motionless and his cries of panic silent. A shadow was slowly cast out in front of him, though he could not see whoever or whatever was projecting it. Then he heard the voice. Cold and malevolent, soulless and inhuman. The voice that made his scar prickle with each and every syllable.

"So you have come at last" it said, "I really can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see you again. The honour is truly all mine."

And with that, the shadow lengthened, and cloaked figure descended in front of him.

He was now staring into the piercing, serpentine eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"It has been far too long, Harry Potter, but patience can be a wonderful virtue. What can I say? It has been an interesting war. So much lost on both sides, so much unnecessary suffering. But here we are in the aftermath, and I honestly couldn't have foreseen such a perfect ending to it all."

A smile spread across the Dark Lord's face as he saw the anger grow in Harry's eyes.

"One Head of Hogwarts passing much the same way as the one before her, a tragically short-lived position." His smile then faded, almost to a look of regret, "But far more lamentable was the destruction of Hogwarts itself. I wish things had not taken such a turn for the worse. A place of such enchanting history lying in ruins, a terrible shame indeed."

Even if Harry could have spoken at this point, he wouldn't have said a word. What could he say, or even think, about what he had just heard? Professor McGonagall dead? Hogwarts destroyed? There were no words that he could find.

"But what of the past, when I'm sure that you are far more anxious to know how things stand at present" he leered harshly at Harry, "I have lost many followers, I have been caused a great deal of trouble, but those who proved themselves worthy of being in my service still remain, and shall be rewarded accordingly."

At this point, Harry felt a hand grab him roughly by the shoulder and drag him across the grass, until he was left lying on his side in front of a small cluster of graves. He could feel his mind swimming and his insides being torn to pieces as he read the names on the stones. The foremost was inscribed with the name 'Nymphadora Tonks'. Beside this was the grave of Hermione Grainger, and other names included Arthur Weasley, two of his sons, Fred and Bill, Dennis Creevey, and Fleur Delacour. Behind these, almost as an afterthought, stood the grave of Ron Weasley. Harry still did not stir, but the tears ran freely from his eyes.

"See how your friends lie united as they rot beneath us? Truth be told, it's better than any of them deserve, the muggle-loving filth!" spat Voldemort "But I think you'll find these two particularly interesting."

Harry looked to where Voldemort's long bony finger was pointing. Set into the soil a little distance away stood two more stones. Two more names. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasely. Between the stones, resting a hand on each stood the pale, bitter faced form of Severus Snape.

"I do hope you approve, Harry" Voldemort smiled, "Marble of the highest quality, to be sure. But where are my manners? We have a guest with us who claims to be an acquaintance of yours."

Harry could practically feel his blood boiling inside his veins as he saw the unconscious shape of Ginny floating towards them a couple of feet above the ground from behind another grave, guided by Snape's wand. Never had Harry known this kind of rage and agony. If he could move, he couldn't imagine any dark magic that would have prevented him from tearing both Snape and Voldemort limb from limb. Ginny stopped in mid air a few yards away from him.

"I must confess that she put up a brave struggle" Voldemort continued, "so much so, that I thought it unwise to end her existence outright. Although, you'll be pleased to hear that it took a considerable amount of torture before her body finally gave in, and it should be of some comfort to know that she was screaming your name before her voice failed her."

He then sat Harry upright and looked him in the eye.

"But most of all," he whispered, "it should please you to know that she is still alive. I would put her out of her misery myself, but I think it would be more appropriate for you to have that honour. After all, you came here to murder, did you not? I would not deny you that privilege before I send you to join your comrades."

Voldemort then got to his feet, drew his wand and pointed it at Harry. All of a sudden, Harry found that he could move. He stretched his arms and legs out, but for some reason, he did not feel inclined to attack Voldemort as he would have wanted. Instead he felt a sensation of lightness and ease come over him and calmly stood up. Somewhere in his head, there was a voice that he could not help but listen to, telling him to draw his wand. This was immediately followed, however, by a voice from his memory. When had he felt like this before? It had been during his fourth year at Hogwarts, in a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. That calm, floating feeling. The voice from his memory was becoming more urgent and insistent.

"Remember Harry. Remember how he tried to control you!" it said.

An ever-more commanding voice then spoke against it.

"Draw your wand boy, and the suffering will be no more."

"Imperius! The Imperius Curse, Harry! Don't you remember?"

"Draw your wand NOW!"

Harry's hand twitched violently, with the tips of his fingers trembling against the handle of his wand as the voices continued to do battle inside his head.

"Draw your wand and destroy the girl! Do it now!"

"No Harry! Remember how you tried to fight it then? You can fight it now!"

"Do as I say, boy, or it will be the worse for both of you! Let me guide your wand!"

As he stared before him, he realised that his wand was already drawn, and pointing directly at Ginny. Voldemort was now straining to keep the curse in place, and shocked that Harry was able to resist in any way.

"You know the words you must speak, so speak them! You have the power to kill, so _use_ _it_!"

"Don't do it Harry! Break it! You _know_ you can fight him!"

"KILL HER!"

"FIGHT IT HARRY! YOU LOVE HER!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed, and fell forwards, dropping his wand in front of him. He felt a weakness that kept him from getting to his feet. Looking up, he saw Voldemort staring at him, utterly furious, but still with an air of grim satisfaction. Harry tried to smile back at him, no longer caring for the consequences.

"As you wish!" The Dark Lord seethed.

He turned on Ginny.

"AVEDA KEDAVRA!" he shouted.

Harry looked away and wept as he saw the familiar beam of green light and felt the rush of air against his face. In what seemed like slow motion, Ginny Weasley fell dead into a crumpled heap on the ground. At that moment, a torturing stab of pain shot through Harry's scar, and he clenched both hands to his forehead. Voldemort returned his attention to the boy before him, mustering every scrap of hatred and malice that he could. A cruel, twisted smile spread across his face.

"Oh, the heart" he said, "Such a treacherous organ, and such a dangerous thing in which to place all your hopes. Harry, please enlighten me. Where was yours when these poor pathetic creatures needed you most?"

The pain in Harry's head burned more fiercely as Voldemort pointed his wand at the boy's chest.

"…"

Harry looked up after a few seconds and realised that Voldemort, try as he might, couldn't utter the curse. With each failed attempt in fact, a look of terror began to show in his eyes, until he started to stumble backwards in panic. Harry could not believe what he was seeing, nor could he understand how the pain in his scar was lessening. Slowly, a veil of tranquillity spread through Harry's mind and he stood up.

He could hear another voice in his head now. One that soothed and comforted him.

"Harry. Harry?" it said.

Struggling slightly to do so, he slowly opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, sweating heavily, and shivering a little. He looked up into the eyes of a beautiful red-headed witch who was gently stroking his forehead. She was alive, and he was now trying to fight back more tears.

"It's okay Harry, you were just having a bad dream" she whispered calmly.

"Ginny, I…"

"Shhh" she pressed a finger to his lips.

All he could think was that she had just saved his life, and given that everyone else was presumably still alive, she had saved them as well.

"Harry, come with me" she said, rising from the bed "There's something I want to show you."


	6. The Guardian Protector

Chapter 6 – The Guardian Protector

Ginny led Harry quietly down the stairs, flinching at the slightest creaking of the old house as they went, until they reached her own bedroom.

"Close the door please, and sit down" she said.

Harry did as he was told. He couldn't help wondering what on earth she had to show him that had to wait until everyone else was asleep. He also couldn't help reflecting on how his heartbeat had raced as she had taken him by the hand.

"Listen Harry, whatever you hear or see in this room, you tell nobody, alright?"

He nodded understandingly.

"Promise?" she demanded.

"I promise."

Harry was somewhat surprised at the commanding tone in her voice, though he would have never betrayed her trust no matter what. Her eyes lingered on him for a while, as if to ensure that he was being genuine, before she finally turned away and knelt down on the floor. Harry watched with great curiosity as she pulled up a loose floorboard, reached inside, and retrieved a small bundle of dirty white cloth. She sat beside Harry, carefully holding it in her lap, and was looking very nervous indeed, perhaps more nervous than he had ever seen her.

"Ginny, what's…?"

"I'm serious Harry" she breathed heavily, "nobody else must know about this, and I do mean _nobody_."

"I swear Ginny, whatever it is, I won't tell another soul."

She nodded shakily, and slowly unwrapped the bundle. As she did this, Harry could see that whatever was inside was emitting a dull red glow that grew stronger with each layer of cloth that was removed. It was obviously a very delicate object from the way she handled it.

Ginny almost seemed frightened to reveal what was hidden. Resolutely, she removed the last fold of cloth, and Harry stared in amazement. He had seen objects like this before, in fact both of them had, but now he wore a look of stunned disbelief. In the middle of the unfolded cloth lay a small glass orb, now glowing a powerful red.

"It can't be…" he gaped

"I'm afraid it is" she replied.

"Your…_prophecy_?"

She nodded. It was clear that Harry was trying desperately to get his head around what he had seen. Ginny could almost see his mind working away through his eyes.

"So…" began Harry, only just about able to make sense of it all, "…so, it was _you_. The break-in at the Ministry, that was YOU!"

"I can't take credit for that" she said, "I may have removed it from the shelf, being that I'm only person who could, but I had a lot of help."

"I see, and who was crazy enough to help you break in? From what I heard, there are so many new security measures taken at the Ministry, I'm surprised that even employees can get in."

Ginny gave him a guilty smile.

"Well, there were a couple of members of The Order who couldn't resist a bit of mischief, even in times like these. I'd been in contact with them about it a few days after we came home."

Harry pondered this for a moment, before he broke into a smile of his own.

"So that must mean….ah, I understand! This was Lupin's handiwork, wasn't it? I might've known!"

She shrugged at this.

"It wasn't just him" she said, "This may come as a surprise to you, but Mad-Eye Moody was also very obliging. I explained to him why I needed this, and he was very sympathetic about it. Of course, for the two of them together, breaking in was hardly what you would call a challenge."

Even with this explanation, Harry was still baffled by it all.

"But why DID you need it? And why do you want to show it to ME?" he asked.

"I had to show it to someone else, and no matter what there is between us, I just thought you were the only one who would understand."

Harry nodded silently. He too had removed his own prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and after discovering the truth about himself and Lord Voldemort, he could sympathise with Ginny wanting to know something of her own fate. He watched as she carefully placed the glowing orb on the floor in front of her.

"You want to hear it now? In here?" he asked.

"Is there something _else_ you would rather be doing?" she enquired, though with kind reassurance in her eyes, "Don't worry Harry, there are silencing charms everywhere in this room. The walls, the door, even the floor and ceiling. This is for our ears only."

Her gaze returned to the seemingly harmless object on the floor, and gripped Harry's hand tightly in hers as she brought her foot crashing down upon it. From the shattered orb emerged a pale, almost faceless ghost whose only clearly identifiable features were its large, round black eyes. Its very appearance echoed around the room, and its voice, as if there were two voices in unison, reverberated in both male and female tones as it spoke.

"From the pure blood House of Weasley, heirs by blood and right to Godric Gryffindor, shall be born a seventh child of fire. Heart of iron will and purest love. Honourable of purpose, she shall walk a road most deadly. Chosen from the moment of birth to hold powers unseen and unknown to those who would see her fall, she shall be guardian protector of he who would enter the Serpent's Coven and seek to overthrow the Dark Arts within. If the heart should fail, all will be lost."

As the echo of these last words subsided, the ghost slowly faded in a shimmering haze until nothing remained but the shards of glass on the floor. Both sat in silence for what seemed an age, before Harry finally spoke.

"Heirs of Gryffindor?" he breathed, realising that he had never really considered how the bloodline had travelled.

Ginny remained speechless, though Harry thought he could see tears welling up in her eyes. At last, she opened her mouth.

"It's all too much. Not me. Please Harry, not me!" she cried, burying her face into his shoulder and weeping.

He put his arms around comfortingly and savoured the alluring smell of her hair as he spoke softly into her ear.

"Ginny, listen to me. It's okay. Prophecies must be like that for some people. I mean, I was told that I was destined to either kill or be killed by the most powerful dark wizard who has ever lived. It would be difficult for anyone to hear something like that, but whatever you have to face, you won't be alone."

Harry found himself biting back these last few words. What was he thinking? He couldn't just take back what he had said to her at Dumbledore's funeral. Better to say something along the lines of "You have a wonderful family who will always stand by you", just to be sure. But Ginny had already lifted her head, and was now gazing straight into Harry's eyes. Why did she have to be so beautiful?

She leaned across and pulled a tissue from a box beside her bed, and dried her eyes.

"Harry, I want to tell you something," she began, "and I've been wondering how to say it for a long time, so just let me get it out of my system."

"You can tell me anything," he replied, already cursing himself for sounding so considerate. Why couldn't he just have nodded?

"I was told the story about you when I was about six years old. The famous Harry Potter. No one knew where you'd grown up, but everyone in our world knew your name, and what happened to you. You were a hero, and I used to feel safe when I went to sleep at night, just knowing you were out there somewhere."

Even in this light and with the redness that the tears had stained on her cheeks, Harry could tell she was blushing,

"After a few years though, I stopped thinking about where you might be. For all I knew, there would be some special place for wizards like you, because you weren't like anyone else. Then one day, I came to London with mum to see my brothers off to Hogwarts, and there you were. And it wasn't until you were on the train that I found out it was you. I didn't think for a second that this boy who looked so lost and nervous could be Harry Potter."

For some reason, Harry hadn't expected any of this from Ginny, though he was very used to hearing her speak her mind.

"When Ron came home and told me he'd made friends with you, I almost thought he was lying to make fun of me, because I still had drawings of you in my room from when I was younger. I was excited enough during the summer before my first year at school, thinking I might actually get to meet you, so you can't imagine how I felt when I came downstairs one morning to see you sitting in our kitchen. I wanted so much to talk to you, but what could I have said? I had as much of a crush on you as a girl that age could have. It wasn't easy Harry believe me."

Now it was Harry's turn to blush.

"After you saved my life in the Chamber of Secrets, I felt torn apart every time I saw you. I knew I had feelings of some kind for you, and they were feelings that just grew stronger with every passing year. Hermione was the only one who really knew. But you were Harry Potter. You might have been friends with my brothers, but why would you notice me, when you could probably be with _any_ girl you wanted?"

Harry was on the verge of replying to this, but Ginny had no intention of allowing him to do so.

"Seeing Michael and Dean was just my way of accepting that what I then knew to be love simply wasn't meant to be" she said, forcing herself not to cry again, "Because I love you Harry. I can't help it, and when you kissed me that day in the common room, I knew that whatever happened, I would die happy."

This was too much for Harry. Yesterday, he would have once again given her the reason why they could not be together. But now, there were far too many questions racing through his head. It was as if he could no longer be sure of anything, but knew that the girl who sat looking at him would be needing answers.

He opened his mouth to speak once, twice, three times, but simply couldn't get the words out. As he considered the possibility that he had forgotten the entire English language, Ginny reached out and laid a hand on his heart. He could feel his pulse quicken dramatically, and he trembled slightly as she took one of his hands and placed it on her own heart. They sat there, almost hypnotised, when Harry realised that his arm wasn't just trembling, it was pulsing in time with Ginny's heartbeat, and now he could even feel it inside his head. He looked down and noticed that the same had happened to her.

His attention was then suddenly caught by a silver light that began to engulf his hand where it touched Ginny. It spread slowly up his wrist and past his elbow, until his entire arm was illuminated. The light was pleasantly warm on him, though somewhat unsettling. As it reached across his shoulders, he could see that not only had Ginny's hand been taken by the same light from him, but she was in some kind of a trance, and breathing heavily.

"I…I can…feel it!" she said.

"Ginny?" he whispered, feeling decidedly light-headed.

The light continued to travel down his other arm, and now his whole body began to tingle. He would have been nervous about this, but for some reason, he felt positively uplifted. As he looked down and saw the silver gleam form a ball in his hand, he felt a strong compulsion to keep it in a tight grip, not wanting to lose the happiness inside. Ginny, he could see, was experiencing a similar sensation. There was a dull pain in his fingers, as though the ball of light was trying to escape. He began to hold on tighter, but then heard Ginny's voice.

"Let go Harry. It's alright."

He opened his hand and stared in amazement as his patronus, a large silver stag, erupted from the light. It stood there looking back at him, clearer than he had ever seen it. Just as he wondered how he could have silently conjured this without the use of a wand, he saw a fountain of light soaring from Ginny's hand. This was so bright that Harry found himself having to squint at it for a few seconds until the glare finally settled. He blinked twice before realising that he was looking at a magnificent silver lioness, who stretched her claws out in front of her and opened her mouth wide in a silent roar, looking as if she was overjoyed to be finally released into the wild.

Ginny and her patronus regarded each other with both curiosity and bewilderment, before the two patroni turned to face one another. Harry could only go on a few things he had read, and snippets of various wildlife documentaries he had seen on television whilst living with the Dursleys, but this was enough to know that a confrontation between a stag and a lioness would not usually be a friendly one.

"Harry, what's hap…" Ginny began.

"Ssh, don't worry," he assured her.

When both animals had resolutely stood their ground for quite some time, the stag slowly bent its neck down toward the lioness. After a small hesitation, the two animals brushed noses this way and that, before glancing back at Harry and Ginny.

With a small bow, they turned and walked away, vanishing into the wall.

Even with the lamps lit, the room then seemed to be in semi-darkness, but Harry could see the reflection in Ginny's eyes of what little light remained. Ginny was the first to find her voice.

"It's true, isn't it? What I heard you tell Hermione"

Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

"You _love_ me?" she enquired, her voice quivering with the tears she was trying to choke back.

After a deep breath, Harry opened his and eyes and found himself lost in hers. He couldn't keep lying to himself. They had both seen it happen. He had effortlessly summoned his patronus from the power that she had given him. It wasn't even as if he had needed to concentrate, because she had simply made him happier than he had ever been. She had shown him love that he had never known, and for that he would owe her his soul.

"I've been in pain without you, Ginny. I will _always_ love you, and protect you with every last drop of blood I have."

Ginny smiled warmly, but shook her head as she drew him in close to her. He felt her sweet breath against his face and drank in every detail of her features, framed by the luscious mane of red hair that cascaded down upon her nightdress.

"No Harry, I understand now," she replied, her mouth now poised less than an inch from his, "Your task is to kill Lord Voldemort, but it is _I_ who shall protect _you_."

And so saying, she pulled him into a firm and loving kiss, throwing her arms tightly around him as he ran his fingers through her hair. The fiery passion between their lips intensified, and in that moment Harry felt as though they had both become immortal, as he could never imagine such a feeling coming to an end. They had both lost track of the time that had passed when the kiss finally subsided. Ginny was nearly breathless, biting loosely down on her bottom lip and gazing at Harry with a burning look of desire in her eyes.

"Stay with me, Harry Potter, and don't ever leave me," she said.

"I love you, Ginny Weasley," he replied, "and no, I'll never leave you."

Harry lay back on the pillow with Ginny beside him, nestling her head into his shoulder.

"I love you too," she whispered, swearing to herself that she would even protect him in his dreams.


	7. In the Clear Light of Day

Chapter 7 – In the Clear Light of Day

Ron awoke with a start and rubbed his eyes. The sunlight was dazzling, and he found himself retreating back under the covers. He had just been having a very strange dream.

During a N.E.W.T exam in charms, he had been finding the paper remarkably easy to complete, so much so that he put his hand up to find out if he had indeed been put in the right exam. It was then that he noticed that Hermione was overseeing the class. She walked up to him and enquired what the matter was. She was being overly nice to him, for a teacher.

"What can I do for you, Ron?" she had asked, stroking his hair.

"Err, I'm not sure if I've got the right paper here, Professor."

"Hmmm, that does sound strange. I could have sworn I double checked them before handing them out," she said, glancing at the paper on his desk, "but to be honest, I knew you could sail through this one. You were always my favourite."

Even the Ron in the dream was beginning to wonder what was going on.

"But aren't N.E.W.T's supposed to be more difficult than this?"

"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you" she laughed, "Actually, I was hoping you could help me. I've been writing up reports on the class for the headmistress, and there's something I needed to double check with you. How do you spell 'charms'? I'm afraid I've clean forgotten."

Ron was really starting to worry now.

"Hermione, are you sure you're alright?" he enquired suspiciously.

"It's Professor Crookshanks to you!" she uttered indignantly, before adding "Oh no, sorry, that's not the one. Crookshanks, why didn't you correct me?"

Hermione's cat simply yawned, stretched, and transfigured into a potted plant, but this didn't seem to bother her. Neither did the sight of Neville Longbottom calmly attempting to set his hair on fire.

"Oh, and when I have a minute, I need to test you on a basic levitation charm" she continued.

"But we covered that in our first year!" protested Ron, now starting to get a little annoyed.

Hermione looked positively ecstatic.

"You did? Oh well done Lavender!" she beamed.

Ron had had quite enough of this. He got up and stormed out of the classroom, ignoring Hermione's cries of "You'll be back, Mr Finnegan, oh yes you will! They _always_ come back!"

He found Harry sitting by himself in the corridor.

"Finally, a bit of sanity," he breathed.

But Harry wasn't listening. He was instead playing with some coloured building blocks. It seemed that he was very engrossed in the task of building a childish replica of the astronomy tower. Beside him lay his wand, snapped in half.

"Harry! What is wrong with you? What happened?" said Ron desperately.

At that moment, the tower fell to pieces, much to Harry's annoyance. He finally looked up, his face brightening as he saw his friend.

"Ron! It's so good to see you!" he babbled excitedly, "They let me out! Isn't that wonderful?"

As Harry stared at him, drooling absent-mindedly, Ron turned away in despair and walked on down the corridor. What was happening? Had they all gone mad? Well yes, evidently so. He then heard a voice that made him quicken his pace.

"Won Won!!"

It was bad enough dealing with Lavender Brown in real life, but what would she be like in this madhouse? He shuddered to think. Her voice echoed along the corridor once again.

"Won Won! Look at me! Why are you being so horrible to me?"

Like a fool, he glanced over his shoulder. His blood froze, as he saw that it was not Lavender at all, but Aragog, the gigantic spider that had once been a companion of Hagrid's. It scuttled rapidly along behind him, and he ran as fast as he could, his face whitening with fear. The corridor seemed to go on forever, and still he kept on running. As he looked back, Aragog had suddenly disappeared. He turned his head back, but not in time to stop himself from crashing with full force into a door that had been opened in front of him. With that, he blacked out, and finally woke up.

There was something odd about his bedroom that he had seen out of the corner of his eye upon waking, and so, he pulled the covers off again. Taking a brief look around, he noticed that the other bed was empty. Where was Harry? He looked at his alarm clock. A few minutes past eight. Surely Harry wouldn't have been up this early. His shoes were still there, his wand was lying on top of his trunk (thankfully still in one piece), and why would he just go down to breakfast alone without waking him? Something was going on.

Ron dragged the rest of his clothes on and apparated into the kitchen. He arrived with a small 'pop', and once again scared the living daylights out of his mother.

"Ronald Weasley! If that happens _once_ more, I'll be placing a charm on you to make your clothes stay in once place when you apparate! You may have passed your test, but that is _no_ excuse to abuse it!"

Ron decided that a delicate compliment might be in order.

"Breakfast smells lovely, mum," was all he could think of.

He hungrily surveyed the plates of bacon, sausages, eggs, and toast, and finally remembered why he hurried down there.

"Oh, has Harry already had his breakfast?" he asked.

"No one has," replied Mrs Weasley, "Actually, I was just about to call you all down. Did he sleep alright?"

"Erm, I don't know," he answered distractedly.

Mrs Weasley gave him a puzzled look as he slowly climbed the stairs.

He knocked a couple of times at Hermione's door. While he waited for a reply, he savoured the memory of the night before, and almost forgot the task in hand. The sleepy young witch opened the door and blinked.

"Well, this is a nice surprise!" she smiled, folding her arms around Ron's neck, "I must say it's quite romantic to find you at my door, wanting to see me so early."

Ron was just on the point of saying that he was looking for Harry, when she pulled him towards her and gave him a kiss that made him go weak at the knees. He returned her caress, thinking that this may not be the best time to mention his true motive for calling on her, and felt a contented smile creep over him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Not too badly," he muttered, crossing his fingers that _this_ Hermione could at least spell the word 'sleep'.

"What about Harry?" she asked.

Finally, he thought, a window of opportunity.

"I'd love to tell you he slept like a baby, but he was gone when I woke up," said Ron, "He wasn't downstairs either. His wand was still there, but no Harry."

He tried to sound as relaxed about this as he could, and was relieved to hear his own real concern in Hermione's voice.

"He's gone?" she said, now looking up at him, "Well, maybe he's been walking round the garden or something, or into the village."

Ron looked at her sceptically. He was prepared to believe that she hadn't properly woken up yet.

"Hermione, you can't tell me you believe _that_. You know as well as I do, that Harry wouldn't even take a bath without his wand close to hand," he said, "I mean, it's not like McGonagall hasn't lectured him about going off on his own, and apart from anything else, his shoes are still beside his bed."

Even Hermione had to admit that this was a little strange.

"Okay, try the other rooms quickly, then I'll give you a hand looking. Just give me a minute to get dressed," she said, giving him an affectionate peck on the cheek and closing the door.

Ron began to wonder where Harry could have got to. Though it seemed a long shot, he considered going to check his parent's bedroom. Quite why he would be in there, Ron had no idea, but if it was a possibility, that was good enough for him.

Climbing the stairs, he paused briefly outside his sister's door and listened. Silence. Oh well, he thought, better than the quiet sobbing he had often heard. As he arrived at their bedroom, he heard his mother shouting up to everyone that breakfast "wasn't about to eat itself", which reminded him briefly how hungry he was.

Arthur and Molly Weasly's room was colourfully decorated, with many relatives both past and present waving from ornate picture frames on the wall. Trying to avert his eyes from those depicting himself at three years old (one of which reminded him of an embarrassing occasion when he had drunk an unmarked flask of potion and his father had returned home to find him sprouting tentacles), he searched the room, reaching out hopefully into thin air in case Harry had been wearing his invisibility cloak. After satisfying his curiosity, he quietly left, followed by the suspicious gaze of a painting of a younger Molly Weasley.

After a frantic rush around the spare room that had once been Bill and Charlie's, the last option remaining was Fred and George. Past experience had taught him to exercise great caution before so much as knocking on their door, as he couldn't imagine anyone alive creating the kind of booby traps that the twins could. There were memories of burnt fingers, blue faces, and bizarre hair loss to think about.

"Fred? George?" he called.

"Don't touch the door handle!" came the reply.

After a bustling and crashing noise from inside, coupled with a good deal of foul language, the door opened.

"What do you want?" demanded George grumpily.

"Harry's disappeared" said Ron, "can't find him anywhere, and wherever he is, he hasn't got a wand."

"Did he not want to face the music then? I know Ginny can get pretty vicious with her hexes, but I didn't think he'd make a run for it in the middle of the night."

Ron exhaled irritably.

"I just wanted to know if you'd seen him, not what you thought of him" he replied.

"Hey, I just thought he was made of sterner stuff, that's all" said George, protesting his innocence.

Ron turned to leave, but turned back in curiosity.

"As a matter of interest, what's wrong with the door handle?"

George grinned proudly.

"One of our new anti-intruder measures. A very nasty adhesive jinx on that one," he cackled, "Believe me, your hand would've become a permanent part of the door."

Ron shook his head disapprovingly, but still wore an impressed grin.

"It's a work in progress," said George secretively as he closed the door.

Hermione was waiting for him outside her door with an impatient look on her face. Ron looked adoringly at her.

"Just been asking George," replied Ron, "He hasn't seen him".

They walked hand in hand down into the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley was fussing over Bill and Fleur, who had evidently just arrived from the inn in Hogsmead.

"Ah, I'm glad at least _someone_ was listening," she remarked as they entered.

"I've been looking for Harry," protested Ron "It's like he's just disappeared in the middle of the night or something."

"Oh I see," said Mrs Weasley, her temperature rising a few notches, "Well, he's got another thing coming if he thinks he can just hide himself away without so much as a word of explanation to me or poor Ginny!"

Bill sighed. He knew all too well how protective his mother could be. She was a very caring and loving individual, but Bill also knew her to be somewhat overbearing at times.

"Mum, just sit down and have some breakfast," he said, gulping down a mouthful of tea, "They're not babies anymore. Don't you think that they might just be able to sort this out between them without you butting in?"

Ron, however, had seen the familiar look of brute determination on her face, and was preparing to step aside like a matador confronting a charging bull.

"No, I'm sorry Bill, but now that he's here, I will _not_ see my girl starve herself and stew in misery for ONE MINUTE LONGER!"

And with that, she stormed upstairs, closely followed by Ron and Hermione. Ron was debating whether or not to apparate ahead of her and negotiate, but decided it would be best not to incur his mother's wrath more than necessary. After starting towards her daughter's room, she stopped in her tracks and looked back over her shoulder.

"Well," she said, a little confused, "you obviously didn't look very hard, Ron. He's right here."

Both Ron and Hermione peered up the stairs past Mrs Weasley and sure enough, on the third landing, clad in t-shirt and pyjama trousers, with an embarrassed smile on his face, stood Harry. He had come to look upon Mrs Weasley almost as a mother, one who had truly taken him under her wing some years back, but still he had awaited meeting her with some apprehension this time around.

She gave an enquiring look and began.

"Well Harry, now that we've found you at last, I believe the time has come for the two of us to have a serious chat," she said, pointing a mildly accusing finger at him.

"Yes, I believe so," he nodded, thinking that eventually, he would have far more serious matters to discuss than she did.

"Now I know you must be tired, and I know that things have hardly been easy for you lately, but there are certain things that I must – "

She broke off abruptly as the door opened, and out stepped Ginny. The colour had returned to her face since her mother had last seen her.

"Ah, Ginny my dear!" said Mrs Weasley, who had recently been glad for even the briefest sight of her only daughter, "Are you hungry at all? Can I get you some – ?"

Once again, she was struck dumb in mid-sentence, as Ginny smiled and walked up beside Harry, kissed him delicately on the cheek, and held his arm with both hands. It was the first time her mother had seen her smile in weeks, and now she looked positively radiant. Only Hermione could digest what they were seeing, and she was smiling too as she affectionately held Ron's hand.

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley, as she painstakingly began to put two and two together, "Ginny….Harry, have you…? When did…? What did you…? Oh my…!"

As she struggled to chain together a coherent sentence, Harry turned to Ginny and took her lovingly in his arms, kissing the top of her head. It was possible that at that moment, Molly Weasley was content to be lost for words. She rushed up the stairs, almost tripping over herself, and gave the two of them a suffocating hug.

"Oh my dears!" she sniffed, "I've been waiting so long for this day!"

Hermione discreetly signalled to Ron that it might be a good time to join Fleur and Bill downstairs, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

When they were finally released from her grip, Harry gazed happily down at the youngest Weasley.

"So, _are_ you hungry?" he asked.

She looked back at him as though she were happily daydreaming.

"Harry, I'm absolutely bloody starving!"


	8. As the Dust Gathers

Chapter 8 – As the Dust Gathers

Charlie Weasley was both tired and unhappy as he prepared to leave the Ministry of Magic with his father. They had been there all night, Arthur attending to urgent business within his department, and Charlie reading further into the kind of trouble they were to expect in the near future. The one bright spot in this was finding his younger brother Percy walking the halls and sending his large stack of files flying every which way with a flick of his wand, then disappearing before the enraged Percy had seen him. As an afterthought, he reappeared later and bewitched a piece of chalk to write the words 'brown-noser' in both English and Rumanian on the back of Percy's robes.

He had been working with dragons in Rumania for much of the past few years, but if he was to be of more help to the Order there, he would have to know more of what was happening in his home country. And what was happening was infuriating.

The more he had found out about the Ministry's methods of tackling dark magic, the more he was relieved that his dad had never been working directly alongside the head ministers. Those who did seemed to have a collection of choice phrases that cropped up far too often in Ministry briefs, statements in the Daily Prophet, and during conversations within the hallowed halls of the Ministry itself. These included 'The time is not yet right…', 'Improper use of Ministry resources…', 'Not the time for rash actions…' and 'Let us not be too hasty…'. All of these circled around the hesitation of senior ministers to get their hands dirty, and it drove Charlie mad to hear about it. He was actually surprised that Rufus Scrimgeour hadn't received a greetings card from Lord Voldemort, thanking him for keeping the Ministry out of his way. The new Minister for Magic may have taken Voldemort's return more seriously than his predecessor, but he still had the same tendency to procrastinate.

The Order of the Phoenix were doing everything they could to find out what the Dark Lord was up to, especially after his Death Eaters had managed to get inside Hogwarts, but the best they could do at the moment was to be ready for any further attacks. This was frustrating for them all, even for Charlie while he was in Rumania. There were supporters of Voldemort over there as well, but as Order representatives were few in number where Charlie was, he had little choice but to just continue sending his reports back to England.

After sifting through the past year's Daily Prophets, attempting to separate fact from fiction, Charlie decided that there was only one person who could walk into the fray with his head held high, free of all restraint and regard for wizarding law. He had met him before, though they had exchanged regrettably few words. It was time to return to The Burrow, and have a long talk with Harry Potter.

Arthur Weasley yawned as he joined his son in the entrance hall, and together they apparated homeward.

"Don't know about you Charlie, but I'm looking forward to grabbing some sleep after breakfast."

Charlie murmured his agreement as they approached the front door, though he was still deep in thought. After asking and answering the security questions which Mr Weasley seemed to think necessary, he walked into the kitchen with Charlie in tow, and was immediately accosted by his wife.

"Oh Arthur, Charlie, thank goodness you're both home!" She cried, fussing them both into chairs around the already crowded breakfast table and presenting them with far too much food at once, "You won't believe what's happened!"

Mr Weasley looked helplessly at her as she hurried round the table, knocking Fred's tea over as she went.

"My dear Molly," he said soothingly, "if you would just calm yourself and sit down, I'm sure that both eating breakfast and you telling me what's happened will become a lot easier."

She nodded apologetically, summoned a spare chair in from the garden, and sat down. It was then that Mr Weasley noticed his daughter sitting across the table, heartily tucking into doorstep slices of toast with blackcurrant jam.

"Now my dear," he said, turning to his wife, "would I be right in thinking that this has something to do with the fact that Ginny is actually downstairs, all smiles, with an appetite?"

"She and Harry got back together," put in George.

"Which means Harry might be under the Imperius Curse," added Fred, earning himself a sharp punch in the shoulder from Ginny as he refilled his cup.

"Will you two pipe down!" yelled Mrs Weasley, "Oh Arthur, isn't it wonderful? Such an adorable young couple!"

"_Mum_!" hissed Ginny through gritted teeth.

"And now there's Ron and Hermione too!" she cried, ignoring her daughter's embarrassment, "Won't it be so lovely to have them both as part of the family one day?"

"MUM!" yelled Ginny and Ron together.

Both Harry and Hermione were concentrating far more on the plates in front of them, each trying to hide their own bashful smile.

"Ah yes, Harry" said Mr Weasley, steering the conversation into more comfortable territory, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here to wish you a happy birthday yesterday. No rest for the wicked and all that. Molly, did you give him the present?"

Mrs Weasley shook herself back into reality, and realised that she had forgotten all about it.

"Oh yes of course! The present! Just hold on one moment."

As she hurried upstairs, her husband seemed very excited that he was there to see this.

"I had to use one of my newfound contacts at work to get hold of this," he said, rubbing his hands together, "Not exactly something you'd find in Diagon Alley, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to afford it if it was."

She returned shortly, carrying a large, dusty black wooden box with vines of decorative golden leaf carved around the sides and lid. Setting it down on the table, Mrs Weasley beamed at Harry, gesturing for him to open it.

"We heard that you'd become quite the master of potions over the past year," she said proudly as he lifted the lid and started removed the soft packaging.

Ron saw the slight scowl on Hermione's face at this, and squeezed her hand consolingly under the table. She was still adamant that Harry was most undeserving of his reputation as a skilled potion maker.

"It actually used to belong to ancestor of Arthur's, maybe over two hundred years ago, but it must have gone astray at some point. He had a fair bit of trouble tracking it down".

Harry finally lifted his present from the box, utterly speechless, like everyone else around the table. It was a solid gold cauldron with the crest of Gryffindor carved upon the side. It brightly reflected the sunlight that shone through the windows, and thoroughly mesmerised Harry.

"Ah, they don't make them like _that_ anymore!" smiled Mr Weasley.

"Thank you so much!" Harry replied, getting his voice back.

"Bill and I 'ave also brought you something, 'Arry," chimed in Fleur, as she nudged her fiancé.

"Oh yes," said Bill, reaching for a bag beside his chair, "Now this isn't exactly standard Hogwarts issue clothing, so best to keep it safely tucked away while you're at school, but it's the ultimate for the true wizard gentry."

He handed the bag to Harry with a wink, and Harry pulled out of it a long handsome cloak. It was a silvery grey colour, embroidered with fine black and gold stitching.

"Wow!" exclaimed Harry, "Very nice too!"

"My goodness Bill, that must have cost you a small fortune!" said Mrs Weasley.

"Gringotts discount" he grinned back at her.

"I wish Lucius Malfoy could see me in this!" Harry said, causing a ripple of laughter around the table.

"I think zere is something in zat bag from my sister as well," smiled Fluer.

Harry reached back into the bag, and sure enough, there was a framed photograph inside. Within the frame stood a shivering but smiling girl, standing beside the lake at Hogwarts. Harry recognised this to be Fleur's younger sister, whom he had rescued from the lake during the Tri-wizard tournament two years previously. Beside her was written the words "Joyeux anniversaire Harry! Avec tout mon amour, Gabrielle xxx"

Ginny quietly snarled as she saw this, but Harry turned and kissed her before she could open her mouth to protest. She blushed as she saw everyone staring at her.

Charlie reached into the bag he brought home from the Ministry and handed Harry a large fully signed photo of the Vratsa Vultures Quidditch team from Bulgaria.

"Happy birthday Harry."

"Blimey Charlie!" exclaimed Ron as he saw the picture, looking very much impressed, "How did you get hold of that? They're just about the best team in Europe!"

"It's not too difficult among the wizarding community over there, if you know where to look," his brother said matter-of-factly, "I had a few drinks with the new seeker a couple of weeks ago, and mentioned that I was looking for Harry's birthday present. Of course, he'd heard the name Harry Potter while he was visiting relatives over here, and it was just as I was getting a third round in that the rest of the team walked into the bar. I got drinks for the rest of them, and that photo was in my hand before the last glass was empty."

As Harry opened his mouth to express his gratitude, Charlie interrupted him.

"Actually Harry, do you think we could have a chat in private?"

"Erm, sure" Harry replied, quite bewildered.

Though he had little reason to suspect so, he was hoping this wasn't a kind of "That's my little sister you're got there, so just watch your step" lecture. He hadn't really spoken much to Charlie, the second eldest of the six Weasley brothers, but knew he had made quite a name for himself, both in Quidditch and international wizard relations.

As they walked out into the garden with the eyes of the rest of the family following them, Charlie wondered how best to begin.

"Harry, I need to talk to you about V…V…Voldemort," he said with a struggle.

Harry was slightly taken aback.

"Well…what about him?" he asked.

"Listen, you know what the Ministry are like. They care so much about presentation that they've practically lost sight of the danger we're all in" Charlie groaned, "Just so long as it _looks_ like they're doing a good job, they're all happy."

Harry nodded in firm agreement. He had had enough run-ins with the Ministry to know what they were like in that respect.

"No one knows what to do, not even the Order, although at least their hearts are in the right place and they would be quick to act if they did know," he continued, before stopping dead in his tracks and looking Harry straight in the face, "I'm not going to lie to you Harry. You're our only hope, because even though you may not know what lies on the road ahead, you have that plain and simple determination to do what must be done. After all I've seen and heard, I know that you and Dumbledore were the only ones who could focus properly on it all. He _has_ to die, Harry. The Ministry can whine on about their search for his supporters, but the _last_ thing they would do is actually hunt down Voldemort themselves."

"Sounds about right to me" Harry replied.

"But Harry, what are _your_ views on it all?"

Harry considered. There were things he had to do that he could not yet speak of, but it was certainly refreshing to just be asked the question outright by someone other than Ron or Hermione.

"I don't like it anymore than anyone else does, I just know that it's something I have to do," he said finally, "McGonagall said I have to go back to Hogwarts this year, and I suppose it must be the right thing to do."

"It most definitely is," said Charlie quickly, "From what I hear, your teachers this year will be The Order."

"What!" uttered Harry in shock and surprise.

Charlie nodded.

"Well…what are they going to be teaching me?" he asked.

"Not completely sure, but I would imagine that it will include knowledge that is quite a bit more advanced than N.E.W.T standard," he grinned.

"Charlie," said Harry after deep thought, "Dumbledore gave me a few pieces of the puzzle before he died, but there is still a lot I have to find out. There are things he told me that I can't tell anyone else yet."

Charlie nodded understandingly.

"You know The Order will all be right behind you. Just tell them enough so they can help you. They all know that everything Dumbledore said and did was always for a good reason."

Harry wondered at this. Dumbledore had trusted Snape, and his trust had never faltered. If he could have talked to the old headmaster now, would he still be given the same answer? He had seen Snape murder the professor with his own two eyes, and if this wasn't a case of misplaced trust, he didn't know what was. Would Dumbledore admit to an error of judgement if Harry could ask him now? The doubt in his mind was hardly comforting. If he couldn't trust the instinct of Dumbledore, where could he turn?

Charlie, he decided, knew more than he was letting on.

"How much do you know about Occlumency?" asked Harry.

This raised a smile from Charlie.

"I thought you'd come asking about that sooner or later," he said, "but I'm afraid I'm far from the right person to ask. Whatever you know on the subject is probably more than I do. All I can tell you is that it's something you will be taught about in depth when you go back to school, and it's a weapon that I would never face Voldemort without."

All Harry could wonder was who from The Order of the Phoenix the expert was. Dumbledore had never mentioned anyone other than himself and Snape.

"Look Harry, I want to help in any way I can. There are so many people who can do nothing but twiddle their thumbs, but something, no matter how rash, _has_ to be done, and soon," said Charlie, his face darkening, "because I for one will not stand to return home and see the Dark Mark floating over this house."

As the rest of the family were finishing breakfast, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were constantly glancing through the window at Harry and Charlie.

"Any idea what that's all about?" asked Hermione.

"I'm just as clueless as you are," Ron replied, "He never said anything about talking to Harry before. Maybe they want him to join The Order."

"Well I don't see that there's anything he could tell Charlie that he couldn't tell us," whispered Hermione indignantly.

Though as curious as the other two, Ginny was quick to leap to her boyfriend's defence.

"Look, whatever it is, it's between the two of them, and if he wants to tell us then he will!" she said sharply.

They turned to her in surprise, Ron's expression quickly changing to one of suspicion.

"Speaking of secrets," he said, narrowing his eyes, "what exactly happened between you and Harry during the night? I'm assuming he somehow got into your room, because I looked everywhere else, so come on, spill the beans."

Ginny once more felt a kind of giddy euphoria wash over her as she recounted to herself the events that had occurred in that room, but was determined to leave her brother in the dark about it.

"Oh, we just uh, had a heart to heart, I suppose. I just can't get over it!" she smiled.

Ron seemed unconvinced.

"But you must've been locked in there for ages!" he replied, "And I couldn't hear a thing when I passed by your room. I just hope you didn't…you know…"

Ginny was now outraged at her brother's tone.

"For your information, no we did NOT! And what were you doing listening at my door anyway?" she demanded.

"I was looking for Harry, and given that he turned out to be in there all along, I don't see anything wrong with it. Would you have preferred it if I had just broken down the door?" he asked, "Because that's what mum would've ended up doing if you hadn't come out when you did!"

Ginny was content just to glare at him now. It was a secret for her and Harry alone and it continued to make her feel all warm and tingly inside.

They were interrupted by the sight of an owl swooping in towards the kitchen window. Hermione looked up excitedly.

"Ooh, that must be Harry's present!" she said, making a dive for it.

Ginny and Ron looked on inquiringly.

"So, what did you get him?" asked Ron.

"A diary and some chocolate cauldrons," she said simply.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"A diary?" he scoffed, "You were acting like you'd got him the keys to Hogwarts!"

Ginny was altogether more concerned.

"What kind of diary?"

"It's enchanted, but perfectly safe," she said, seeing the look in her eyes, "The owner simply writes their name and any other names they choose on the first page. Only those named will actually be able to read what's inside."

Ginny was beginning to feel very down. Harry had come of age, and she hadn't got him anything to celebrate the occasion. True, she had been far too upset to consider this, but it didn't stop her from feeling bad about it now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Lupin and Tonks, accompanied by Charlie and Harry who had just come in from the garden. Everyone was trying to greet them at once, but eventually they quietened down. It was clear from the look on Lupin's face that he had something of great importance to say. Mrs Weasley pulled up a chair, and he sat down, quite exhausted.

"I thought you should all know this," he began, "After apparently having been captured by the Death Eaters, Mr Ollivander seems to have escaped. He's currently being held under questioning by members of The Order."

And then, there was silence…


	9. Concerns of the PureBlooded

Chapter 9 – Concerns of the Pure-Blooded

Lupin's words were hanging in the air and starting to gather dust by the time Mrs Weasley spoke.

"Well, you both look like you could use a drink."

She pulled a bottle of elf wine and two glasses out of a cupboard, then poured Lupin and Tonks a healthy measure each. Both nodding their thanks, they gazed feverishly through the liquid as the family attempted to muster the power of speech.

"What has he managed to tell you so far?" ventured Bill.

Lupin put his arm round Tonks as they exchanged glances.

"Nothing that we can use just yet," Lupin replied, "But we must be understanding about all this. From what we can tell, he seems to have been through quite an ordeal."

The Weasleys were pensively nodding as one at this. It was hard to know what to say. With the exception of Fleur, everyone in the room had purchased their wands from Mr Ollivander's shop in Diagon Alley. He was the most respected wand-maker in England, and one who remembered each and every one of his customers.

Harry was wondering why Ollivander, of all people, had been abducted. The only conclusion he could draw was that it was something to do with the fact that Voldemort's wand had a phoenix feather core from the same phoenix as Harry's. When Voldemort had once attempted to curse Harry, the two wands had acted against each other, much to the Dark Lord's shock and dismay. But although Ollivander knew this about the wands, what would he be able to do about it? What use would he have been to Voldemort?

"We left him resting in McGonagall's study," said Tonks, who was looking just as fatigued as Lupin, "He's under a sleeping draught, and I'm just hoping that it does the trick."

There was something about their faces that suggested an unwillingness to go into any further detail. To break the tension, Fred nudged George gestured subtly in Harry's direction.

"Oh yeah," muttered George, "Harry, do you fancy coming upstairs for moment?"

"Just a few new products to run by you," added Fred.

"Market research – "

"Quality control – "

"Wanted to hear what you think," George finished

Harry was a little taken aback as to why they had brought this up, but decided to go along with it.

"Err, sure. Why not."

"Excellent," said George.

"Right this way," Fred ushered him.

As they trooped upstairs, Ginny made to go after them but was held back by Ron, who had immediately followed her train of thought.

"Just leave them to it, Gin. It's something they have to get out of their systems," he said.

"But it's none of their business!" she quietly hissed back at him.

"That's a matter of opinion," Ron returned, "You knew it would happen, so better sooner than later."

Ginny dropped back into her chair with a very sulky expression.

"They've got ten minutes before I go up there and start knocking their door down!"

As the party of three stood on the landing, Fred tapped his wand twice on the door handle, muttering a short incantation under his breath, and then opened the door.

"Just a precaution," he smiled.

Harry followed them inside. Fred and George's bedroom was cluttered around the edges with new stock for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop they had opened in Diagon Alley. Harry would have considered it more than his health was worth to investigate these boxes without supervision, considering the twins' reputation.

"Excuse the mess," said George, "Have a seat."

Harry sat in a small armchair, wondering why it was so oddly positioned in the middle of the room. The twins paced slowly and ominously around him. This made Harry somewhat uncomfortable, especially when they stopped, sat down on the bed opposite him, and appeared to study him through half-closed eyes.

"So," began Harry brightly, "what kind of new products are these?"

Fred slowly rose to his feet with a smile, and did another lap around Harry's chair, patting him on the shoulder.

"All in good time, Harry, all in good time," he murmured.

This made Harry decidedly edgy.

"What's this about?"

Fred returned to join his brother, and George finally decided to shed some light on the situation.

"We didn't say anything in front of mum, because all _she_ could do was get all soppy and sentimental…" he began.

"…but we have questions,"

"…that need answers."

Harry was never sure how serious to take them when they spoke like this, but this was obviously something that mattered greatly to them.

"Okay then," he replied, "Ask away."

Fred leaned forward towards him with steepled fingers. Harry couldn't help but think of police interrogations he had seen on television. This should be interesting, he thought.

"What's going on with you and Ginny?" he asked quietly.

Harry had to take a moment to consider this. He knew how he would describe it to Ginny herself, maybe even Hermione or Ron, but for some reason this was different.

"We're in love," he settled on, "That's about the only way I can put it."

Both twins looked at him with deep-seated suspicion.

"Love?" said Fred slowly.

Harry nodded.

"Harry, she was in tears most of the time…"

"…when she wasn't coming downstairs to collect a few crusts of bread"

"…She wouldn't talk to anyone"

"…and we almost thought she was thinking about suicide"

"…You can't tell us that's perfectly normal behaviour for someone who's in _love_."

Harry could see the logic in this, given that the twins didn't have the facts in their possession.

"Look, the truth is that there were certain obstacles we had to get past" he said, trying to remain as vague as possible, "but we had a long talk about it, and worked things out."

They were unconvinced, and Harry knew it.

"Just like that?" uttered George incredulously.

"It sounds to us like she was set up for a fall before…"

"…so are you just raising the stakes now?"

"…getting her hopes up so you can see them dashed apart on the rocks again?"

This line of questioning was genuinely starting to annoy Harry, who was trying to restrain himself as they continued.

"I realise we've played our fair share of jokes on her, that's what brothers do," said Fred, trying to drive the point home.

"…but this is serious Harry. You can't do this to our little sister, just because you're treated like a member of the family," added George with genuine fervour.

"Not quite, we haven't played enough jokes on him yet," put in Fred, correcting his brother.

Harry was already sick of this. He considered Fred and George to be great friends of his, and wouldn't even want to raise his voice at them if he could help it, but at the same time, these kinds of accusations could not go unchallenged.

"Look, if you two have any Veritaserum, feel free to pour a whole vat of it down my throat, and you'll still get the same answer!" Harry cut in, getting a full head of steam,

"I love Ginny, and I never want to see her hurt again!"

Even the twins were slightly thrown by this.

"Steady on there Harry," said George, "She's our sister, and she's been through hell. Did you think we wouldn't be just a little concerned about all this?"

"We're just reacting the way any brothers would," Fred added, "I mean, Dean and Michael may have been a couple of numbskulls, but at least they weren't targets for every dark wizard in the country. You must see what we're getting at."

Harry saw _exactly_ what they were getting at, and he couldn't condemn them for it by any means.

"Fred, do you think I hadn't thought about all this? And do you think that _she_ hasn't?" Harry looked questioningly at the pair of them, "She's a very capable witch, and one of the bravest I ever saw. Nobody is really safe from harm now, and all we're doing is taking the happiness that's there for us. Besides, if something happens to her, you can have the pleasure of killing me yourselves, because I don't think I could carry on anyway."

The twins looked at each other, slowly considering these words of Harry's, then both nodded.

"Sounds like a fair enough deal," George concurred.

"Fine by us, if you think you'll both be happy together," said Fred.

George then held up his hand for silence and looked over to the bedroom door, which Harry noticed was glowing a dull blue around the edges.

"Oh, and Ginny" called George, drawing his wand, "you have until the count of three to get those extendable ears away from the door, before something very nasty happens – and _don't_ think I won't do it!"

After a frantic scurrying outside, there came a knock.

"Open up!" yelled Ginny.

George rolled his eyes.

"Good manners cost nothing, young lady. One little word is all – "

"NOW!"

He fearfully hastened across the room and opened the door. Ginny could inspire the same terror as her mother when she felt the cause was just. George met her stare with some apprehension as her eyes burned with annoyance.

"Listen here you two, I will NOT have you interrogating Harry!"

Fred began to protest.

"It's okay Ginny, we got what we wanted. No harm done, so butt out."

Ginny seethed at this.

"It wasn't your place to be grilling him to begin with!"

And with that she lunged forward, grabbed Harry, and locked him into a fiercely lustful kiss before Fred and George could express a word of their disbelief. Both Harry and Ginny had become oblivious to the twins' presence by the time Fred opened his mouth again.

"Oi! We might be men of the world, but could you two take that outside?"

The two of them grinned as they finally separated, and shuffled back out on to the landing. As they headed once again for the kitchen, they found themselves confronted by Lupin. Despite his tiredness, it was plain that he was happy to see Harry and Ginny together.

"Is everything alright?" asked Harry.

"I've just had an owl from Professor McGonagall" said Lupin wearily, "Apparently, Ollivander, in his fitful sleep, was muttering something incoherent about you."

Harry looked at him uneasily, wondering what kind of question would be the right one to ask. Ginny was beginning to tighten her grip on Harry's hand.

"Harry, the Order have decided that you will be making an unscheduled trip to Hogwarts. I'm to escort you there in a few hours time" he yawned, "As for you Ginny, I believe we should talk about a certain delicate matter that was discussed last week."

"It's okay Lupin, Harry knows all about it. I showed him last night."

This came as something of a shock, especially after the terms of absolute secrecy under which Lupin and Moody had assisted Ginny in obtaining her prophecy.

"Is that so?" said Lupin, raising his eyebrow, "Well, that being the case, I will need the two of you to tell me everything. I must know every last detail of what you heard. But for now, Molly, being the determined creature that she is, has insisted that I get some sleep before we make our journey."

They watched him head for the spare room in a silence that was shattered by the sound of laughter and a horse neighing from the twins' bedroom. As they turned around, sure enough, a small brown horse walked clumsily out on to the landing. It spluttered a few times, shook itself, then reared up on its hind legs and finally shrank back into the form of George, who immediately began laughing along with his brother.

"What do you think?" he asked, "They haven't got a name yet – maybe 'Animagus Toffees' or something."

Ginny was glad of this distraction. She still knew that there was a very real danger about that prophecy, but at the same time, she didn't want to burden Harry with her fears just yet. Something told her that he would soon have more than enough to worry about.


	10. The Fear

Chapter 10 – The Fear

A little way outside the town of Whitby in Yorkshire lay a small, almost deserted area of dense countryside. There were hills on all sides, littered with crumpled stone walls and the carcasses of sheep that had fallen victim to the slow decay of time and weather, or to roaming predators. In the middle of the valley, hidden by patches of thick foliage, lay a mossy, rain-beaten stone cottage. Once a grand rural residence, it had now suffered the wear and tear of centuries, like the hills that surrounded it. Despite the need for repair, the tiled roof had been well resistant to the forces of nature, never once letting through wind, rain, sleet or snow. Within the walls of this cottage, a seventeen year old boy cowered shakily in a corner.

His tender years not withstanding, there were already faint traces of grey in his pale blonde hair. By a potent combination of fear, anxiety and lack of sleep, his eyes appeared dark and slightly sunken into his sickly white face. What little rest he had been afforded had been plagued by nightmares that were scarcely any worse than his reality.

A tall thin wizard in thick black robes had been sitting at the table in the middle of the room, looking sullenly about him. The boy flinched every time he caught his eye, and whimpered as he rose to his feet and spoke. The wizard's voice was the very epitome of heartlessness.

"Of all the gifts bestowed upon you, your life is not one that I would advise taking for granted at this moment."

The boy was weak, almost a shadow of who he had been a year ago. He began to hyperventilate as the voice continued.

"Your task was completed, but not as I would have hoped. So I have been asking myself how this could have happened. I am told that you had the perfect opportunity, and yet your hesitation prompted a more faithful servant of mine to do this deed in your stead. Now you will tell me _why_."

The boy couldn't speak. He was terrified, and could think of no answer that would satisfy the master who now stood before him. Instead, he continued to whine pathetically as he was regarded with impatience.

"Silence is not something I treat lightly when I demand an explanation!" hissed the wizard in a snake-like tone, "You may only thank the servant in question that you and your family continue to draw breath."

He drew in closer to the corner and stared hard into the boy's face.

"I will not accept youthful innocence as a plea. At your age, I killed my father and the worthless vermin who spawned him. Could it be, young Draco, that you are unworthy, possibly even ashamed, of the blood that flows in your veins?"

At this, Draco Malfoy could only violently and fearfully shake his head.

"Could it be that you are truly unworthy of the Dark Mark that you claimed to wear with such pride? Careful how you answer boy! Both your life and that of your treacherous father in Azkaban still hang in the balance."

Finally, Draco managed to regain his powers of speech.

"I…I was…afraid it w…wouldn't work. I d…didn't know what would happen!"

Voldemort nodded, conceding.

"It's true, the late Albus Dumbledore was a very powerful wizard, not one to be underestimated" he said, pulling a wand from amongst his robes, "but given that this task was appointed to you with full understanding of the consequences of your failure, I can only conclude that you have remarkably little faith in the Dark Arts that you embraced."

He then pointed the wand squarely at Draco, who frantically scrabbled further into the corner as if he could have escaped through some hidden trapdoor there.

"Let's see if we can restore your confidence, shall we…? CRUCIO!"

Draco's whole body then tensed up, his limbs stretching out of the corner as he screamed in agony. Every nerve in him twitched with an unbearable pain that only subsided when Voldemort lowered his wand. He lay back in the corner, a trembling wreck.

"See how easy it is? Do I need to demonstrate my powers to the rest of your family before you will understand how serious my resolve can be? Because you may rest assured, that was merely a little sting to get your attention."

The boy shook his head, still reeling from the attack.

"No…please….I'll do anything!"

Voldemort looked down at him, with nothing more than disgust on his face.

"I certainly hope you will, for your family's sake as well as your own, for you have still yet to prove yourself deserving of your bloodline or the mark of recognition with which I rewarded you. Many would kill for both of these, and you may well have to kill to keep them."

He moved in closer towards Draco with a venomous snarl cutting across his features, and spoke in a manner that made him shudder all over.

"Harry Potter will die by my hand, and you will carry out in full any instructions I should decide to give you to make this possible. It would not be in your best interests to fail me a second time. Begging for one's life is one thing, but I believe you will know where your loyalties lie once you have seen another beg for their own death."

With that, Voldemort finally turned his back. He listened carefully and nodded at what he heard.

"I have certain matters of importance to attend to. While I am gone, I will leave you in the charge of a trusted follower, perhaps one who will teach you a lesson or two."

With one last contemptuous glance at the boy, Voldemort swiftly disapparated from the room. Malfoy lay sobbing into the sleeves of the once pristine and finely tailored robes that now clung to him, damp with sweat, rainwater, blood and dirt. If it weren't for the knowledge that he would possibly be in even worse danger, Malfoy would have run. He wouldn't have cared where. His confidence, arrogance and ambition had abandoned him, and he couldn't even imagine how this nightmare would end. If he knew that his parents were safe, he might have had the strength to stand, but this luxury was denied.

He didn't know how to feel or what to think. He hated Harry Potter, and blamed him for his father's imprisonment. Maybe if it weren't for Harry Potter, the Dark Lord would be richly rewarding him and his family for loyal services to him. He was running this notion over and over in his head as the door opened. The man who entered moved swiftly to Malfoy's side and began pulling him to his feet. The man's voice was stern, but the very sound of it reassured him.

"This is no time for weakness" ordered Snape.

"Professor? I…"

"You are in shock, Malfoy. You must rest, or you will lose your mind."

With some effort, he pulled Draco up the stairs and into the nearest bedroom. Laying him on the bed, he addressed him once again.

"I shall return soon with a little brew of my own creation to help you get your strength back."

As Draco opened his mouth to speak, Snape silenced him.

"Don't speak, and don't try and move. There will come a time for questions and answers, but it is not now."

The professor then hastened back downstairs. There were all too many questions that were making Draco's head hurt as much as his body did. As he slowly drifted into a haunted sleep, there was one question that rose so insistently to the surface, like bubbles in a cauldron. How many days like this would he even live to see?


	11. Tasting the Madness

Chapter 11- Tasting the Madness

As Harry listened to Lupin describe their travel arrangements, all he could wonder was why the Order needed him to see Mr Ollivander. If they couldn't help him or extract information, how was _he_ supposed to?

"As you know, we can only apparate as far as the outer reaches of the lake," said Lupin with a yawning stretch, "then we take a boat across to the main grounds like you've done before."

Harry was absently nodding at this as his thoughts flew here, there and everywhere. Mrs Weasley, with Lupin's assistance, had explained to her daughter that she could not accompany Harry on the journey. Even though he was expecting to return that night, she was still very upset that she had to be parted from him already. Harry knew her pain, as it was the same that clawed at him as he made his way downstairs with Lupin.

"One, if not both of us will be back before midnight" said Lupin to Tonks and the scattered family members that remained in the kitchen.

Ginny was looking mournfully at the space beside him where Harry stood in his invisibility cloak. Harry sadly watched her mouth the words "I love you," before he disapparated from The Burrow, and in that instant, he could feel his heart breaking in the cruellest way.

The grounds of Hogwarts had always been Harry's favourite scenery to behold. Protected from the eyes of muggles by many complex enchantments, and now secured against all who were not expected, all he wished was that he could be there under more pleasant circumstances. The sight of the vast lake, the forest, and the castle itself had always been such an inspiration, and he couldn't help casting his mind back to when he had first seen it at the age of eleven. Standing at the side of the lake now, his only thought was that this was just one more thing worth fighting for.

He and Remus Lupin watched as a small rowing boat floated purposefully towards them of its own accord. As they carefully stepped aboard it, the sky began to cloud over rapidly, almost as if it were an omen.

They journeyed across the lake in silence. Harry knew there was something he was meaning to ask, but he wasn't altogether sure of the best way to ask it. He decided to make an attempt as they disembarked on the opposite bank.

"Professor, there was something I…" he began, "Er…did Mr Ollivander really escape, or…?"

Lupin knew exactly what he was driving at.

"We don't know anything for sure," he answered grimly, "but we would all like to think that he _did_ escape."

As they walked across the grounds, he turned to Harry with a very foreboding look on his face.

"If he was deliberately released, it's safe to assume that it wasn't simply because Voldemort had no further use for him."

"Why do you think it could have been?" asked Harry.

Lupin was getting increasingly nervous now. He shivered slightly, even though there was hardly a chill in the air.

"Well, like I said, I would prefer to think that he managed to escape," he replied, "but if he was set free, it was almost certainly as a warning of some kind."

They stopped as they reached the main entrance to the castle, and Lupin took a deep breath before speaking again.

"There are some things that will become clear when we get inside. I assure you that you will be told anything that we have found out about this, but only one thing is for absolute certain – the man we brought here is _not_ the wand maker that you knew, or that _any_ of us knew. Something has been done to him, Harry. Something…terrible."

Silence reigned once again, but was broken as they turn into the corridor that led to the Headmistress's study. They then heard the agitated voices of Madame Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Mad-Eye Moody from the bottom of the spiral staircase.

"But Alestor, he must be taken there as soon as possible, it's the only thing to be done!" wailed Madame Pomfrey.

"Over my dead body!" barked Moody back at her.

"It will be over _his_ if he doesn't get the proper care soon!" she replied.

"Not until I get some answers out of him! If he's taken to St Mungo's, both the press and the Ministry will be on us like locusts on a cornfield within five minutes!"

Professor McGonagall was the first to spot Harry and Lupin, and hurried over to them.

"Oh Remus, thank goodness you're back! Ollivander's been getting worse since you left."

They approached the other two beside the Gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance to the study, and were startled to hear a blood-curdling scream from above. Moody then took a stern look at Harry.

"Well Potter, I just hope that whatever he's babbling about falls into place when he sees you," he growled, "He was muttering enough about you in his sleep, so maybe the sight of you will clear his mind a little."

"I don't quite see how" said Harry.

"Well, he won't be busying himself making wands for a while, not when he's having trouble making _sense_, so I'd say it's worth a try."

McGonagall stepped forward and addressed the gargoyle.

"Memor vinco" she uttered and the staircase spiralled upwards in front of them.

Mad-Eye Moody led the way up, closely followed by Harry and Lupin.

"They've twisted his mind somehow," said Moody, "Something must have terrified him out of his wits, that's for sure."

When they entered the study, Harry's eyes fell upon a sight that made his stomach turn. Now he could see what Lupin had meant. This was _definitely_ not the Ollivander that he had known before. In place of the calm, wise, and rational old man that he had last met at the Tri-Wizard Tournament nearly three years ago, he was now looking at a deranged lunatic. Mr Ollivander had fallen from his chair, and was now crawling slowly around on his hands and knees, his clothes filthy and torn. There were dark red stains across the carpet around him, where he had been vomiting blood, and both his hands and face were covered in severe cuts and bruises.

As he gazed vacantly around the room, rambling inarticulately, his eyes fell on Harry, and he suddenly stopped short. When he spoke, there was a murderous desperation and rasp in his voice.

"You are….here," he said simply.

Harry was nonplussed.

"Mr Ollivander?"

"He…has seen you," was all the reply he received.

"What do you mean?" cut in Moody.

Harry jumped as Ollivander exploded in a ballistic rage, and once again coughed up a mouthful of blood. His voice violently reverberated around the room as he continued to dribble blood down his front and on to the carpet.

"CHARLATONS!! EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!! YOU SPEAK OF SO MUCH, AND YET YOU KNOW NOTHING!!!"

No one dared make a sound until Harry finally stepped forward.

"Mr Ollivander. What happened to you?"

Although the man still bore a furious expression, his voice quietened.

"Like scurrying, sightless rats…like blind men in the darkest of caves we are…"

Harry decided he was asking the wrong question.

"Where did he take you?" he asked, concluding that he had spoken of Voldemort.

"He…he promised me…promised he would…kill me. Why would he lie?" Mr Ollivander replied, looking somewhere between helpless and catatonic.

Moody then began furiously whispering to Lupin.

"I know he's still being vague and all, but why didn't he speak a word of this before?"

"Sshh," gestured Lupin, "Maybe it's just the sight of Harry, like you said."

Harry was now determined, though he could make little sense of the answers he was given.

"What did he want from you?"

"The light…that shows him the way…" came the reply.

"The way to what?"

Silence. Harry turned to the others.

"Is there nothing that can be done for him?"

"He's been infected with some kind of dark magic and none of us can break through it" said Lupin, shaking his head.

As he tried to help Ollivander to his feet, Harry felt the man's now piercing stare and was suddenly frozen to the spot with fear. He saw a cold bleak darkness in his eyes and began to feel the same kind of terror and agony that he had felt in his dream the night before. Breaking out into a heavy sweat, he began to breathe as if he had been thrown into an ice-cold bath and was unable to let go of Ollivander's arm.

"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Moody.

But Harry couldn't speak. He couldn't even move. Avoiding the dark stare, Lupin strode forward and prised Harry away from Mr Ollivander, at which point, the wand maker collapsed to the floor once again. Harry was shaking.

"Are you alright?" asked Lupin, ushering him towards the door with great concern, "Look, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. Go downstairs and see Madam Pomfrey, she'll give you something to calm you down."

Suddenly, Harry tore himself away and faced the crumpled man lying on the floor.

"No!" he cried, "I MUST talk to him!"

Stooping down and checking that he was still conscious, Harry questioned him again.

"Mr Ollivander, What happened? Please try and think!"

Ollivander struggled to raise his head, never looking Harry in the eye.

"He…wanted the answer…to the riddle," he said breathlessly.

"Why did he need you?" asked Harry insistently.

"I needed him to kill me!" he shrieked, tears mingling with the blood on the carpet.

"But what did he want with YOU?"

Mr Ollivander paused to wipe his eyes before answering.

"A…wand," he breathed, before hastily adding "I gave him nothing. I begged him to kill me!"

There was terror in his voice that Harry had never before heard. There was the truth in there somewhere, but it seemed almost like working through a maze in pitch black darkness. He persevered.

"What did he tell you? What was he doing when you were there?"

The wand maker shook himself, as if he too were trying to uncover the answers.

"The Dark Lord…..so many things…wanted to know why his wand….I…he was angry…so angry…"

Harry stayed silent, as it now looked as if the desperate man before him was just trying to find the words.

"So much time…darkness…no light….pain…"

"Go on," said Harry encouragingly.

"I hear voices…voices in the dark…He ….sought the….the Coven."

Both Moody and Lupin were listening intently now. Harry ventured a guess, as though blindly fitting a piece to a jigsaw puzzle.

"The…Serpent's Coven?"

Ollivander looked up in wide-eyed surprise, rose on to one knee and shivered as he nodded.

"Of his ancestry…he…would take it…can't let him! Can't let…!"

And with that, he made a desperate lunge forward like a plea for help, and puked blood on Harry's shirt as he fell to the floor. A little stunned at what had just happened, Harry wiped the stray blood off his hands before feeling Moody's hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"I need a word with you, Potter. Downstairs, right now," he said in a very grim tone.

As the three of them made for the door, they heard Mr Ollivander gasp, and turned around.

"He has…seen you…Harry Potter," he croaked, seemingly too weak to open his eyes, "He…has also…seen…HER."


	12. Damien's Tale

Chapter 12 – Damien's Tale

Mad-Eye Moody and Harry made their way slowly back down the spiral staircase, leaving Lupin to stand guard. They moved to one side as Madam Pomfrey hurried up past them to attend to the ailing Ollivander. Professor McGonagall was pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs.

"What happened Alastor?" she asked anxiously as she saw them, "What has he said?"

"I need a quiet talk with Harry before I can tell you," he replied gruffly, "but don't you worry, Minerva. You'll know as soon as I can piece it together."

Finding an empty classroom along the corridor, the two of them took a seat on two cosy armchairs conjured from thin air by Moody, along with a bottle of Aphrodite's Plum Wine and two glasses.

"Your health, Harry," he smiled, filling the glasses and proposing a toast, "and, as I hear, many happy returns."

Harry managed as much of a smile as he could, raised his glass and drank deeply. Moody looked at him curiously after sipping his own wine. His magical eye had been wandering around the room for a while before both came to rest on Harry.

"Tell me, have you ever heard the name Damien Halskath?" he enquired.

Harry looked blankly at him.

"I don't think so, Professor."

Moody gave him a patient smile, and both his eyes now wandered. This time, it was as if he were trying to recall many fine details of the dim and distant past. He finally returned his gaze to Harry.

"Damien Halskath was a Death Eater I put away in Azkaban about twenty years ago," he said, "Parasite of the first order, the kind that's best stamped out quickly. I had a long talk with him a few weeks before he suffered the Dementor's Kiss, and from the way he spilled his guts, I could tell he had a feeling that he wasn't long for this world."

He took another sip of wine and continued, Harry listening closely.

"He said that during his time of service under the Dark Lord, it became a widespread truth amongst the followers that their master had an on-going passion for tracing his ancestry, all the way back to Salazar Slytherin himself. What I was a little more surprised to hear, was that Voldemort had shared certain knowledge with Halskath about this particular founder of Hogwarts. Apparently, he, just like Voldemort, had his followers who believed in the pure blood ideal. These followers of his were cast out of magical communities for their cruel and sadistic ways, in fact it was their kind who inspired so much of the fear amongst muggles that led to the witchcraft hysteria all those centuries ago."

Harry was trying hard not to groan at this point, remembering the staggeringly dull History of Magic lessons he had received from Professor Binns. He had often considered whether Binns, the ghost of a teacher who had died many years previously, had in fact managed to bore himself to death with the sound of his own monotonous voice.

"Those that remained loyal to Slytherin, even when their very lives were in danger, formed a pact. Using some very powerful dark magic, they pledged that after their deaths, their spirits would remain united to gather in the house of their master until they considered that a worthy enough heir had come to resurrect them to their living forms. For centuries, there were attempts to perform this ritual as the bloodline travelled on, but all who tried were said to have met a most grisly demise."

This reminded Harry of the rescue mission he had performed in his second year.

"Is this just like the chamber we found?"

"No Harry, it is not. The Chamber of Secrets and the monster that lay within it were all part of Slytherin's plan, but for all his wisdom, dear Salazar knew nothing of this mysterious collective, known thereafter as The Serpent's Coven. Its location, and indeed its very existence passed into legend a few hundred years ago. Possessing control over such immense power became the fabric of a madman's dream, and until today, Damien Halskath was the only one I had ever heard speak of it."

Moody up-ended his glass and drained it with a very severe look on his face.

"So naturally, my question of the moment is how did _you_ find out about this?"

Harry was feeling most uneasy, not about disclosing the information to Moody – after all, he had been party to liberating Ministry property – but about the new piece that had now been added to the puzzle.

"It was part of Ginny Weasley's prophecy. We both heard it," he said.

"Ah," said Moody, feeling awkward, "Well, can you at least give me the assurance that only the three of us know about it? The err…coven, I mean?"

Harry grinned.

"Professor Lupin wanted to know everything we heard, but so far yes, just the three of us."

"Hmm, yes, thought he might," he replied, tapping his wooden leg thoughtfully on the floor, "Well, now is as good a time as any. I'll go fetch him and then you, my lad, will give us every last detail of that prophecy."

He limped off towards the classroom door, but turned back hesitantly.

"Oh yes, and er…not a word of this to anyone for the time being, alright?"

Harry nodded, and listened to the heavy clump of Moody's leg as he continued on back to the Headmistress's study. The wine had calmed his nerves, and as he waited for Mad-Eye and Lupin, he at last had time to think over the words of Mr Ollivander. Voldemort had wanted a wand, but why? It may have been so he could attack Harry without the complication of the wand cores, but he had been told that first day in Ollivander's shop that it was the wand that chose the wizard, not the other way around. So why? And what of his words as they were leaving? Voldemort had seen him, but Harry already knew this, even though it was an odd way of putting it. But also, Voldemort had seen…HER?

His eyes opened wide with realisation and his heart began pounding like thunder inside his chest. Ginny! Voldemort must have discovered that he was close to her by now, whether he was told before or after the break-up. He had known this to be a risk, but now all he could think about was getting back to her. He made a bolt for the door, but found his path blocked by the two professors who had just returned.

"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Lupin, "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Harry was already breathless.

"I need to get back…back to The Burrow. She's in danger! Voldemort knows about Ginny!"

Lupin grabbed Harry's arm and looked him in the eye.

"Harry, calm down and pull yourself together! The Burrow is heavily protected, not just by the five members of The Order who are there as we speak, but by enchantments similar to those that guard this very castle!"

Harry no longer pushed forward, but still looked determinedly back at Lupin.

"But you heard him!" he protested, "You heard Ollivander! He'll be coming after her!"

Mad-Eye nudged Harry back into the room and sighed.

"Sit down Harry, and listen to me. We would know if there was an immediate threat to the Weasley's, but if you believe that girl to be in danger, then the best thing you can do for all concerned is to tell us right now exactly what the two of you heard when that prophecy was opened."

Reluctantly admitting defeat, Harry sat down in front of his two former Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers and took them through the whole story. How Ginny was an heir of Gryffindor, how she held powers that were most likely even unknown to her – Harry had already been surprised by the appearance of her patronus – and how they had interpreted the wisdom that she would be a protector.

He had expected them to regard this information with scepticism and ridicule, but from their expressions, they were refusing to dismiss any of it.

"Well, you seem to have a logical explanation, given what we know now," murmured Professor Moody, "but how Voldemort could know where to find this coven when even Salazar Slytherin didn't know about it is beyond me. I mean, the man travelled around a lot, and as far as I know, nobody quite knew the place he called home."

Harry was really beginning to worry if Voldemort had already found the coven, and was now gathering his new followers. The more he though about it, the less he could believe that he had been appointed such a gargantuan quest. He sat massaging his temples with his fingertips and continued to worry. A voice inside him was trying to tell him that he was still alive, that Lord Voldemort had not yet triumphed, and that he now knew that at least he would not be alone.

The two professors were discussing the matter at length, but Harry already felt very tired indeed, and found his attention span shortening. He barely registered the fact that Professor McGonagall had taken the place of Remus Lupin, and was now hearing the story from Mad-Eye. The sky was heavily darkening as they heard a knock on the door. Madam Pomfrey walked in, looking very pale and nervous.

"Professors…I know how important it is to you that the patient remains here to answer your questions," she said in a very humble voice, "but now I insist, he _must_ be taken to St Mungo's as soon as possible. Otherwise, I assure you, he will not last the night."

After a few moments' deep thought, Moody spoke.

"Very well, but I'm going with him. Not letting him out of my sight until I have to."

Professor McGonagall stood up and addressed Harry and Lupin.

"I think it best that you two head back to The Burrow. You both look like you've got a few weeks worth of sleep to catch up on. Don't worry; Kingsley Shacklebolt will be here soon to hold the fort, hopefully with some reinforcements, so rest easy."

It was safe to say that Harry had never been so glad to leave Hogwarts in his life. His brain was having enough trouble piecing together everything he heard, and right now, he would love to just be able to forget about it for a day at least. But if he was being honest with himself, knowing that everyone in The Burrow was safe would be enough. Being with Ginny, that would be enough.


	13. The Darkened Hours

Chapter 13 – The Darkened Hours

It was one of the cloudiest nights that Harry could remember. Barely a glimmer of the moon remained, and the black haze obscured all but a small handful of stars. He and Professor Lupin had apparated a short distance away from The Burrow, and the house itself was the only source of light. Lupin cautiously drew his wand and squinted as he perused the surrounding area. Harry was just grateful for the small mercy that the Dark Mark was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll go on ahead just to check that all's well," whispered Lupin, "Keep your wand lit, count to fifty, then follow me."

Time was when Harry would have dismissed such advice as over-cautious, but now he was quite willing to listen. He looked about him in the dull glow of his wand as Lupin headed across the field to the house, glancing this way and that for anything unusual.

Counting to fifty as he had been ordered, Harry could have probably listed a worry or problem for each number that he passed. This was no way to live.

Lupin reached the front door and hesitantly knocked. He soon heard the suspicious answer of Molly Weasley.

"Yes?"

"It's me, Lupin."

"What did you think of the pumpkin juice you had when you arrived here earlier?"

"It tasted more like elf wine to me," he replied with a small laugh.

The door opened, and Mrs Weasley gave him a warm greeting that was suddenly interrupted by Ginny pushing roughly past them.

"Watch out Ginny! What's got into you?" enquired her startled mother.

"Where's Harry? What's happened to him!" she demanded.

"Oh, I told him to hang back to see if the coast was clear," said Lupin, pointing just beyond the end of the garden, "He's just – "

But Ginny wasn't waiting for him to finish. She was already running as fast as she could across the grass, clad in black jeans and a loose t-shirt that she had last worn underneath her Quidditch robes when Gryffindor had won the house cup earlier that year. Her hair was billowing out behind her as she raced towards the wand light that was slowly becoming more visible.

"HARRY!" she cried, nearly knocking him clean off his feet as she hurled all four of her limbs around him and covered his face with kisses.

As she slowly relinquished her grip, she stooped to pick up his wand that had fallen to the ground and apologetically handed it back to him.

"Oh Harry, I was so worried!" she said as they walked back to the house, "Just sitting and waiting for you for so long. I was…Oh my…!"

In the improving light, Ginny could see the huge blood stains across Harry's front.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, "Harry, are you hurt? What happened? Oh, I should never have…"

"Ginny, calm down!" he smiled, "It's not my blood."

Luckily for both of them, Mrs Weasley was deep in conversation with Lupin and Tonks as they walked through the kitchen, and Ginny hurried him upstairs to her room, which she now shared with Hermione. As they entered, her roommate and brother were engaged in what Harry could have only mistaken for a deeply intimate dental examination.

"Hem, hem…" Ginny coughed, in her now perfected impersonation of Professor Umbridge, "If you two have quite finished…?"

Hermione and Ron suddenly sat up, both sporting embarrassed grins. It was only as they noticed the blood on Harry that their faces fell just as Ginny's had. And so, as Ginny lay on the bed with her head resting in his lap, Harry related to them the events that had taken place back at the school, skating delicately around any mention of Ginny's prophecy. Ron's lower jaw was about ready to hit the ground by the time he'd finished, and Hermione was looking equally mystified.

"So…" Hermione began, "They still don't know if he was released or escaped?"

"Well, personally I don't think they would have let him go, not in his state," said Harry, "He may have been tortured and had his mind damaged, but I think he still wanted to give me information that I would have found useful. I don't think Vol…You-Know-Who would've just let that happen."

"What about the, err, things you have to look for?" asked Ron nervously.

Ginny then lifted her head and looked from one to another with questioning eyes.

"Am I missing something here?" she enquired.

Harry smiled kindly at her and turned to the other two.

"I believe it's time that Ginny was told _everything_," he said solemnly.

And then, he did just that. With occasional prompting and elaboration from Ron and Hermione, Harry unfolded every detail of his life to her that had brought him to this place and time. The circumstances surrounding his parents' death, how he had first been brought to Hogwarts, and how Dumbledore had given him a little more insight on the path he was taking at the end of each school year. He went through every particular he knew of Voldemort's resurrection, and Ginny clung tightly to him as he told her again of his fate.

After a short rummage in his jacket pockets, Harry retrieved the locket that he and Dumbledore believed to be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. There had been a note inside it from an individual identifying himself simply as 'R.A.B', telling that the real Horcrux had already been removed, and hopefully destroyed by the time the note had been read. Harry had sworn to keep the locket with him always, as a reminder of the sacrifice it took to retrieve it.

As Harry came to the end of his tale, he himself found it hard enough to believe that this was how his life had turned out. For the briefest of moments, he wondered again what things would have been like if Voldemort had long since been destroyed, his parents had lived, and Ginny had been a girl who lived next door to him. It was time to realise that this was his lot in life.

A contemplative silence followed, broken by the hushed tone of the girl whose arms were locked around Harry's shoulders.

"So how will you find these…Horcruxes?"

Harry shook his head and stared down at the floor.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he muttered, "They could be anywhere. All I can assume is that I'll find the snake when I find Voldemort".

Even after all these years, Ron still twitched uncomfortably at the mention of the name.

"And how am I to know how to destroy them when I find them?" Harry continued, "Hufflepuff's cup, something of Ravenclaw's, something of Gryffindor's, and even _that_ is just going on the guesswork of Dumbledore".

All eyes slowly turned to Hermione. She had stayed quiet for remarkably long, and the other three all expected her to be bursting with ideas. She gave them all a look that said "What? I'm thinking!". After a hesitant pause, she spoke.

"Maybe…" she stammered, "Maybe he told his followers where the objects were hidden. After all, he couldn't be resurrected if no one else knew. And maybe you should talk to the four Heads of Houses to see if there is any way of keeping track of magical objects like that."

Harry gave a sceptical snort, even though he knew that she had at least made _one_ good point.

"His _followers_? Hermione, they want me _dead_! Am I supposed to track one of them down then ask them if they could tell me the whereabouts of their master's most precious possessions while I'm dodging their curses?"

This was not a time to scowl over something like this, and Hermione had grown used to such replies from Harry and Ron.

"Actually," she said with a superior air, "I was thinking that perhaps you could make the Ministry work for _you_."

All three of them stared at her now. Harry was wondering how the ministry could work for _anyone_ in times like these. Besides, he had already expressed his contempt for them to the Minister himself, so it was a safe bet that they wouldn't be wanting to do him any favours in the foreseeable future. What he needed was the advice of Dumbledore. But Dumbledore was dead. His expression was gathering gloom with each passing second that he thought about it.

"You look exhausted mate," put in Ron sympathetically, "I'm thinking we should all get some rest."

This notion was met with unanimous agreement. As Ron was kissing Hermione goodnight, Harry looked with deep concentration at Ginny and ran a finger slowly down the side of her face. She returned his look, pleasantly bewildered.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," he replied, "I just want to have a nice memory when I close my eyes."


	14. Darkest Regards

Chapter 14 – Darkest Regards

Hermione had not had the most peaceful of nights. She had heard her cat Crookshanks scratching viciously at the wall, tumbling around, and generally making a nuisance of himself. This was not normal behaviour. He was usually quite a sedate cat of a night time, and Hermione would have gone to investigate the disturbance if she had not felt so weary. When the cat yowled in panic and leapt on to her pillow, however, she decided that this was the last straw.

"Crookshanks, what are you playing at?" she whispered in annoyance, being careful not to wake Ginny, who seemed to be tossing and turning in her sleep.

Crookshanks replied by burrowing his way under the covers, purring loudly, and pawing insistently at Hermione.

"If you're going to be like that, the least you can do is keep your claws to yourself!" she said.

The cat retreated further under the quilt.

"Oh, have it your way!" Hermione sighed, laying back on her pillow and attempting to recite as many magical herbs and fungi to herself as she could possibly remember.

Finally giving this up as a bad job, she got up and went to the window. The sky was just starting to lighten with an almost blood red sunrise and the mist of the night before was clearing. As Hermione rubbed her eyes and blinked, she could have sworn that she had seen the silhouette of a figure on a broomstick flying across the path of the rising sun. Looking again, she dismissed it as a trick of the light.

Crookshanks continued to twitch and moan from across the room, and Hermione began to wonder a little more about what had frightened him. Perhaps he had been sleeping on Ginny's bed and she had accidentally kicked him in her sleep. It was very possible – she had done it herself on a few occasions - but she had never seen anything affect him like this. As she lit one of the lamps and returned to her bed, seeking to console her agitated pet, Ginny shuddered awake. She was pale and perspiring. Hermione was looking at her, very concerned.

"Are you alright?" she asked, moving to her bedside.

After looking all about her, Ginny slowly turned to look at Hermione.

"What? Oh…er, yes I'm fine," she said, trying to convince herself of this at the same time.

"Had trouble sleeping?" enquired Hermione, "I've barely been able to sleep myself. It's that confounded…Oh, Crookshanks!"

She had caught sight of Ginny's bedclothes, and even in the light of just one lamp, she could see that they had been heavily littered with cat hair, which was also scattered across the pillow.

"I'm so sorry Ginny," she said, shaking her head and gesturing at the bulge under her quilt, "I don't understand what's got into that cat; he doesn't normally moult like this, and now he's acting like he's seen a ghost. Has he been bothering you at all?"

Ginny was very confused, and even looked disorientated.

"I was….he…um, no, he hasn't."

Crookshanks then poked his head out and saw Ginny sitting bolt upright, looking back at him. He hissed angrily at her and recoiled. Ginny turned back to her friend.

"I err…I think I need a drink."

"Don't move, I'll fetch you one," offered Hermione, standing up and heading for the door.

"Stay down in the kitchen; I'll be down there in a minute," Ginny whispered after her.

Hermione had mixed a pumpkin and cranberry juice drink for the two of them by the time Ginny had made it downstairs. Sunlight was beginning to seep in through the kitchen window, and the chickens were beginning to stir outside.

"Looking forward to the wedding?" asked Hermione.

Ginny considered. Over the past couple of days, she had almost forgotten about it. There had been so much else on her mind, but she still felt a little guilty that she had pushed her own brother's wedding to the back of her mind.

"In some respects, I've been trying not to think about it," she replied, scratching at her neck, "This place will be turned upside down in a few days, and at the moment, I'd prefer some peace and quiet."

Hermione nodded understandingly.

"Oh, but won't it be wonderful? I heard they've invited Tiberius Ogden to conduct the ceremony, and you should have seen the dress that Fleur's parents brought for her – "

"Hermione, please stop, I'm begging you," Ginny cut in with a smile, "You're really beginning to sound like mum."

"Don't tell me you're not wondering what Harry will look like all dressed up for the occasion!" she returned.

Ginny went pink and hid behind her glass.

It was by pure coincidence that Harry was, at that moment, dreaming about Bill and Fleur's wedding, but in that reality, the presiding wizard had mistakenly married him and Ginny. He sighed contentedly in his sleep.

Ron was meanwhile dreaming of a Quidditch match in which he was playing for England as a beater against Bulgaria's international team. Every bludger he hit went crashing into the head of Viktor Krum with a sound that echoed around the whole stadium. Each time this happened, he received loud cheers and applause from the enormous crowd. Hermione was simultaneously commentating and randomly jinxing the Bulgarian players.

There came a dull flash of light from outside that both Ginny and Hermione mistook for rays of sun breaking through a patch of cloud. At that moment, Tonks came flying down the stairs brandishing her wand and evidently in a state of terrible panic.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, startled by her sudden appearance.

"Both of you get upstairs, now!" she commanded, "Get Harry to come down with his invisibility cloak, but stay up there until I say!"

"But Tonks, wha…?" began Ginny.

"Go, NOW!" she cried.

The two of them hurried upstairs, while Tonks made a brief search of the kitchen to ensure that there was nothing unusual inside the house. Harry soon emerged at the bottom of the stairs, yawning sleepily with his cloak draped over one arm.

"Tonks? What are you doing up so early?" he said.

"Come with me" she beckoned hastily.

Exercising the greatest of caution, Tonks led him out of the front door and into the garden. Harry was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when she pointed up into the sky.

"Look carefully," she whispered.

He had to strain to see what she was pointing at, as it had faded with the gradual increase of sunlight. Finally his eyes opened wide in horror as he made out the smoky shape of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth like a venomous tongue. The Dark Mark had appeared over the Weasley's garden. Beneath it lay a mass of black robes on the grass.

Both slowly approach it with wands pointing out in front of them, preparing themselves for anything they might find. Drawing nearer, it became obvious that the robes, bound tightly with rope, were wrapped around a body. Still keeping a distance of a few yards, Tonks silently split the ropes with her wand and unfolded the black clothing while Harry kept a light focused on it. What they saw when the unveiling was complete made them both gasp in shock. Harry staggered slightly, feeling giddy and struggling to stop himself from being violently sick. Tonks could only stare in disbelief.

Among the heavy black shroud lay the mangled remains of Percy Weasley. Both his arms had been severed above the elbow, his face bore heavy bruising, and his throat had been sliced all the way across. Looking downwards, they could see an inscription branded deeply into his chest, simply reading 'CONSEQUENCES'. The blood from his arms and neck had soaked heavily into the tattered remnants of his clothing. Neither of them could speak for some time, and when Tonks eventually did, Harry was barely aware of what she was saying.

"Give me your cloak. His family should at least be spared seeing him like this."

She folded the shroud back into place and carefully laid the invisibility cloak over it before speaking again.

"Get yourself back inside, Harry," she whispered sorrowfully, "I'm so sorry that you had to see something like that."

Harry steadied himself and looked back at Tonks.

"How could they do this?" he said quietly.

Tonks brushed a tear from her eye and gazed pitifully at him.

"Because they've done it many times before, Harry. An act like this is nothing terrible to them; they are just following the orders of their master."

Harry's countenance grew stronger in defiance, and he remained unconvinced.

"But why _him_?" he demanded, his voice rising in volume, "He wasn't a threat. Why did they do this to HIM?"

"To weaken us, Harry," she replied, "to make us lose hope. It was a way of getting to us all, and it makes me think that He knows where you are."

He began to shudder with anger, his fingernails digging so fiercely into the palms that the skin was ready to break.

"I'll make him suffer so much that he'll wish he had stayed dead!" he seethed.

Tonks put an arm around him.

"Harry, no matter what happens, you _must_ stay focused," she said, "Don't you see? This is what Voldemort _wants_! He wants you to feel pain, anger, misery and hatred. The more you feel it, the more you will rise to the bait and he will have you right where he wants you."

Harry went limp in acceptance of this. He turned around and slowly made his way back to the house, occasionally supported by Tonks. There was a certain despair that came over him at the thought of what he had just seen. Perhaps even worse was the thought of telling the witch that he loved, and all her family, that they had just lost a brother and a son. He had saved the lives of Ginny, Arthur and Ron, but this time, no matter what the circumstances surrounding Percy's death, he felt he had failed them. They had been planning for a wedding. Yes, thought Harry, there was going to be a wedding, and if it was the last thing he did, he would ensure that that happiness would remain theirs. They would have to be told of Percy's death, but only when the time was right. He owed them that.

"Tonks," he said quickly, sitting down at the table, "we have to move the body somewhere safe."

She gave him a supportive smile as she conjured fresh parchment and a quill out of the air.

"I'm way ahead of you. Just letting the Order know, and they should be here soon."

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Please don't tell the family yet. I realise they'll need to know, but I want to tell them myself, after the wedding."

Tonks considered this and nodded.

"If that's what you want to do, then that's what will happen."

Harry remained down in the kitchen with Tonks for quite some time, while help arrived from Hogwarts. He wasn't sure how he would be able to keep up a brave face until after the wedding. He wasn't even sure how he would be able to look any of the Weasley family in the eye. And for how long could Percy's absence be explained?


	15. The Joining of Hearts

Chapter 15 – The Joining of Hearts

Chaos reigned in the Weasley household on the morning of the wedding. Fleur was in Hogsmead with her parents, Jaques and Elodié, and sister Gabrielle, but with all the hasty comings and goings at The Burrow, anyone would have thought that both bride and groom were preparing in the same house. Out of the whole family, Fred and George were the only ones who were managing to ready themselves with minimal fuss. Mr Weasley was, as always, attempting to convince his wife that the entire weight of the wedding arrangements did not rest on her shoulders.

"But Arthur, you don't understand!" she babbled frantically, almost tripping over Crookshanks on her way across the kitchen, "We have only two children who are anywhere near ready! Ron had only just finished in the bathroom the last I saw of him, and it wasn't even twenty minutes ago when Ginny was still tripping around in her nightdress! She's a bridesmaid, for goodness sake!"

Mr Weasley was quite used to this. A delicate touch was needed.

"Calm down, Molly dearest," he said, struggling with his late father's most handsome tie, "As you are no doubt fully aware, our daughter will be reaching the ripe old age of sixteen in less than a week. I have every confidence that she is now perfectly able to dress herself for any occasion in plenty of time."

This was not enough to convince Mrs Weasley, who was determined to fluster herself and all those around her as much as possible.

"But we have less than an hour before we have to leave!" she insisted, "Am I the only one who wants this wedding to happen today?"

Her voice was carrying upstairs, receiving many sighs and groans along the way.

"I wish she'd just take a sleeping draught and ask someone to wake her up when the ceremony starts," muttered Ron, pulling on his dress robes inside out.

Ginny just nodded, only the weakest suggestion of a smile on her face. Ron had been starting to worry about her again. It had just been over the past few days that she had been far too quiet, and at first he thought there was more trouble between her and Harry, but this was the one thing of which she had vehemently assured him otherwise. She had not so much been keeping to her room, but most definitely keeping to herself. Something was wrong. Then again, Harry seemed to be a bit out of sorts as well. Only speaking when spoken to and driving to distraction at every opportunity, this was _not_ the Harry he knew. Perhaps they had some kind of telepathic connection to control each other's mood? Whatever the reason, he'd be getting to the bottom of it as soon as all this wedding hysteria was over and done with.

Meanwhile, it was nearly impossible to concentrate on a single thought within such a hive of activity. Ron had been keeping well out of Hermione's way after she had changed her hair for the fourth time and began asking for his opinion. As far as he could tell, she would look stunning no matter what, but this was _not_ an answer she wanted to hear at the moment. He muttered grumpily under his breath as he straightened his robes and dragged a brush through his hair, which had recently grown to a point where he now needed to tie it back, something Bill had been doing for some years.

Harry was trying to avoid everyone _except_ Hermione. He would have been concerned about this angering Ginny, but she had been distancing herself from him too. He knew that he would probably end up telling Hermione first about Percy's death, and that he would certainly need the moral support when he came to tell the Weasleys themselves. And so, as he put the finishing touches to his own robes, he found himself taking an unusually strong interest in his friend's hair and make-up, simply as a distraction from the nausea that plagued the pits of his stomach.

"Hmm…maybe the darker purple would be better," he suggested, watching Hermione performing tinting charms on the roots of her hair, "It would definitely go well with your dress."

As grateful as she was for Harry's advice, Hermione was slowly coming to the conclusion that either something was deeply troubling him or he had received a heavy blow to the head during the night.

"Those ringlets at the side look great," he continued, "Perhaps a few more stars on the necklace? I love that lace you've put around the – "

"Harry!" she snapped, "For the sake of your masculinity, I would seriously recommend that you stop right there! I don't know what's got into you today, but it can't be good! And why aren't you giving Ginny a hand?"

"Oh, is it suddenly a crime to help out?" he replied, trying to sound as offended as possible.

"You're talking to someone who has been mending your glasses since you were eleven," she smiled sceptically, "so don't trying telling me that you're just being your normal helpful self."

Harry could see that this tactic was getting him nowhere. Conceding defeat, he sat down and raked his fingers through his hair, his thoughts drifting into very unpleasant territory.

"Listen Harry, just tell me what's bothering you," she said comfortingly, "After all we've been through, it can't be anything that you can't at least share with me or Ron."

He looked up at her, having ruffled his almost shoulder length hair back into its usual scruffy state.

"There _is_ something wrong. Something _very_ wrong."

He slowly got up and headed for the door.

"But this isn't the time," he said, without turning around.

As Harry ascended the stairs to fetch his new dress shoes and the cloak that Bill and Fleur had given him, he narrowly avoided a collision with Ginny, who suddenly steadied herself against the wall in the act of rushing downstairs. Neither of them had looked the other in the eye properly for nearly three days, but Harry was now mesmerised at the sight before him. In fact, he was wondering how Fleur would now be able to distinguish herself as the bride.

She was dressed in a long, flowing bridesmaid gown of silvery white Elven silk. Her hair was partially held back with a comb carved from a dragon tooth, and around her neck lay a delicate string of emeralds that brought out the green sparkle in her eyes. She gave a nervous smile as she saw his reaction, and looked awkwardly down at her feet.

"Ginny…" he stammered, battling with an urge to propose marriage to her right then and there, "You look really…nice."

It was almost like when he had first seen the dancing Veela at the Quidditch World Cup three years ago, but this time there was no illusion that made him feel like this. His mind was not playing tricks on him. This was magic of the most natural kind, but Harry was intensely frustrated that he had not given her a more fitting compliment. For just a few moments, he had forgotten why it had been so difficult to face her.

"So do you," replied Ginny, with only a fleeting glance back at him.

She wanted to say more. She wanted to grab hold of him and kiss him. But something just didn't feel right. Something inside her was telling her to stay away. Giving a small, and vaguely ridiculous curtsey, she edged past him and hurried down to find her mother. Harry couldn't have felt angrier with himself if he tried. All he could think was that he had pushed her away. He had been so determined to keep the terrible truth about Percy from her that he had left her estranged.

With just a few minutes to spare, all residents of The Burrow were gathered in the kitchen ready to depart. The wedding was to take place in a large clearing near the edge of Tockington Forest on the outskirts of Bristol. Both Molly Weasley and Elodié Delacour had agreed that it was the perfect setting, although Fleur's whole family had initial misgivings about the festivities being held in England at all. Mrs Weasley had of course been fretting over matters to the very last moment, something that had made Fred and George want to perform more than a few Confundus charms on her.

"Alright Ginny, just hold tightly on to my arm," she said, taking a last nervous glance around to ensure that nothing important had been left behind.

Bill shook his head in exasperation.

"Mum, will you just relax and accept that everything has been taken care of? From the look on your face, anyone would think you were on the run from Azkaban."

Mrs Weasley turned on him sternly.

"There's no harm in making sure that everything's in order for your big day. There's been a lot to think about, you know!"

It was time, decided the groom, to exert a little authority.

"My big day will be absolutely perfect, so long as you can just take the day off and enjoy yourself, for _all_ our sakes!"

His mother looked at the rest of her family, all of whom were now smirking in agreement.

"Oh, very well!" she sighed in resignation, "Are you ready Ginny?"

Mother and daughter then disapparated from the kitchen, closely followed by the others. They reappeared suddenly in the middle of a deserted field about a hundred yards from the edge of the forest. As Harry recovered from the experience that was still relatively new to him, he nudged Ron.

"Why couldn't we just have apparated into the forest? It would've saved us a walk."

Ron smiled as he whispered in reply.

"Just a precaution, so no one goes walking straight into a tree."

As the group approached the woodland, Harry could see the glow of what appeared to be strings of green firelight floating in mid air. It was certainly a comfort to know that the celebrations would be surrounded by muggle-repelling charms. He could only imagine the panic that would ensue if any locals were to stumble across a party of witches and wizards starting what they thought to be a real forest fire.

They walked through the first cluster of trees and found themselves looking upon a truly awe-inspiring sight. Benches of redwood tree trunks had been laid out with rows of very comfortable-looking satin cushions for the guests to sit on. A light, twinkling downpour of snowy stars had been suspended above the clearing in a manner that reminded Harry of the first time he had seen snow in the great hall at Hogwarts. Hermione was amused at the procession of peculiarly dressed French gnomes that marched along the aisle sprinkling silvery rose petals. A very grand chair had been placed beyond the front benches for Tiberius Ogden, the senior Wizengamot official who was to conduct the proceedings, and as they took in their surroundings, Ogden himself strode briskly up to them in his flowing cream coloured robes, smiling from ear to ear.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear friends!" he exclaimed, shaking each one of them warmly by the hand, "Such a pleasure to be here, I can't tell you how delighted I was at the invitation!"

Harry had been looking forward to meeting Ogden, after hearing that he had been a strong ally of Dumbledore's in the Wizengamot. The man's very appearance was somehow a comforting reminder, the wisdom of many years showing in the lines and creases of his face, together with an altogether youthful twinkle in his eyes.

"Harry Potter," the wizard said as he made his way to the end of the line, "So we finally meet. I have heard many wonderful things about you from Albus Dumbledore. Alas, I fear his passing is something from which our world may never fully recover, but seeing you now, I believe it is no time to give up hope."

Harry smiled back at him, then gazed across the clearing at a group of witches and wizards who were dressed in a very different fashion to what he had been used to seeing in England. Far more shocking colour contrasts and bizarrely shaped dresses and robes. After noticing a head of striking, shimmering blond Veela hair, Harry guessed these to be Fleur's relatives. Ginny, who had also noticed them, was keeping her eyes peeled for the appearance of Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle. After seeing Gabrielle's birthday greeting to Harry, she wouldn't be standing for any over-friendliness from her fellow bridesmaid.

Bill walked with Ogden towards the front, followed by Charlie, who Harry supposed was acting as whatever the wizarding equivalent of a best man happened to be. He looked round and saw that Mrs Weasley was once again looking troubled. The crowd on either side were slowly shuffling into their seats, and more guests were now appearing from among the trees. Professor McGonagall arrived, accompanied by Lupin, Tonks, and Professor Flitwick.

As greetings were exchanged, Harry felt like his whole stomach was about to surge up into his throat as he overheard Mr Weasley comforting his wife.

"Don't worry; I'm sure Percy will be here soon. You know that whatever tension there is in the family, he wouldn't miss his own brother's wedding."

"I just wish I knew where he was!" Mrs Weasley wailed quietly, "I wasn't ready when he disappeared from the clock face. It was the same when Bill and Charlie moved out, and next it will be Fred and George…next thing you know, it'll be just the two of us and…"

Harry looked pleadingly at Tonks, wishing that he could have been _anyone_ else at that moment. She gave him a look that he took to mean "Be brave." As he returned his eyes to the Weasleys, having never felt less brave in his life, he heard a soothing melody fill the air. Looking up, he noticed a variety of harps and panpipes beyond the benches on the groom's side, all of them enchanted to play themselves. Bill seemed to be the picture of calm, though glancing around, Harry could have attributed this to the music, as everyone seemed to be lost in it.

The melody then slowed in tempo and changed dramatically, and Harry felt Ron pull him to his feet as everyone else rose from their seats. It then occurred to him that this must signify the arrival of the bride. It was quite different from the muggle wedding music that he had heard, and even _that_ wasn't something he had heard at an actual wedding (his aunt and uncle would have considered it an utterly ludicrous idea to extend a wedding invitation to him).

The first to pass along the aisle were Ginny and Gabrielle, wands drawn, firing showers of red and green stars into the air like silent fireworks. Harry was bewitched. He could feeling his heart pounding as Ginny passed him, and at the same time felt a ballistic rage that there was so much to threaten their happiness. That this perfect creature whom he adored so much might well have to stare death in the face as he would was simply to much for him to handle.

There were gasps of admiration and amazement as Fleur finally made her entrance. She wore a bridal gown with a very long train in startling white, with a sash of silver beads around her waist. Her hair simply flowed down the back of her dress, clipped back behind her ears with lilies. The veil she wore, promised to her by Mrs Weasley, was crowned with a halo of glowing golden fireflies. Ron could feel Hermione's grip tighten around his hand before his jaw had the chance to fall open. Fleur's mother, Elodié was speechless, clapping her hands to her mouth, and blinking back tears of joy.

The moment Fleur drew level with Bill at the front, the music ceased, and the congregation slowly took their seats again. Tiberius Ogden rose from his chair and addressed them.

"Honoured guests, we are here to celebrate the ever-sacred joining of hearts and souls between witch and wizard. Fleur and Bill will now declare their vows of loyalty unto one another."

As Bill dropped to one knee before Fleur, the only sound Harry, Hermione and Ron could hear was Mrs Weasley sniffing back her own tears, but they had all been prepared for this.

"I, William Adrian Weasley, take thee, Fleur Delacour, to be my wife. I solemnly swear to love and honour you, to die any death to serve you, and to let no force of nature or magic break this union."

The sniffing and quiet whimpering increased as Bill kissed Fleur's hand and stood up. Harry was beginning to understand this, for it was indeed a very moving scene. He could even see Hermione fighting it back. Fleur then in turn dropped to her knee.

"I, Fleur Delacour, take zee, William Adrian Weasley, to be my 'usband. I solemnly swear to love and 'onour you, to die any death to serve you, and to let no force of nature or magic break zis union."

As she rose to join Bill, Charlie stepped forward and handed Ogden a length of slightly blackened gold chain.

"Will the bride and groom please join hands?" he said, smiling broadly at the two of them.

As this was done, he wrapped the chain seven times around their wrists, tapping his wand on their joined hands each time.

"Permissum is redimio suum pectus pectoris quod animus" he muttered as he finished.

The chain then appeared to disappear into their skin, leaving a trace of blue light that vanished like a snake rapidly slithering away.

"I, Tiberius Ogden, of the Wizengamot of Great Britain, Order of Merlin second class, pronounce you man and wife."

As Bill delicately lifted the veil Fleur dispensed with all restraint, lunged forward and kissed him in a way that took everyone on the groom's side quite by surprise. An almighty cheer arose, and the music of celebration began. The crowd began to mingle in the middle of the clearing as the benches were transfigured into tables, on to which a great deal of food and wine was conjured. Harry could tell that no matter how important the ceremony was to magical folk, it was the celebrating they did best. He soon found himself face to face with Fleur's mother.

"'Ow wonderful to see you again 'Arry!" she cried, "Fleur 'as been telling us all about you, and Gabrielle 'as been so excited to see you. Gabrielle! Venez ici et dites bonjour à Harry!"

As Gabrielle approached through the crowd, blushing as she smiled at him, Harry felt a tight grip around his arm as Ginny felt the time had come to begin her role as guardian protector. He rested his hand on hers reassuringly.

"Bonjour…" said Gabrielle nervously, "Did you 'ave a nice birthday?"

"Erm, yes thank you," he replied, not quite sure how complex to make his answers, "So, how do you like it here?"

"Oh, I lurve England. Your friend 'Erminny 'as told me about your customs 'ere, but 'er French is not so good," she said, trying desperately to come out of her shell, Harry giggling to himself that Hermione was actually bad at something, "Ginny 'as told me zat you two are in lurve. She eez very…er…'ow you say…?"

After a quick whisper in her mother's ear, she turned back to them.

"Ah yes, she eez very…protective. Zere eez something she eez saying to me zat I am not quite understanding. Tell me, what does 'Hussy' mean?"

With a raised eyebrow at Ginny, and a guilty smile in return, Harry excused them as politely as he could.

The festivities continued well into the evening, and by the time Harry had finished meeting everybody, he thought he was drunk. The sights, the sounds, the aromas in the air, it was all so wonderful. Fred and George had been showcasing their newest fireworks, including some that spelled out the names of the bride and groom in multi-coloured flashes. It was only when he heard a very distraught Molly Weasley complaining that she had still not seen Percy that Harry remembered the grim task in hand. Watching Ginny smiling at him in the light of the lanterns and fireworks, he decided that he would have to get her on her own and tell her before he could tell the rest of the family. Yes, he thought, that would be best. The more he watched her enjoying herself, her eyes dancing and her smile radiating warmth toward him, the sicker he felt about telling her. But how would she feel if he kept putting it off? He cautiously walked over to her

"Come with me" he whispered in her ear.

"Harry, what is it? What's wrong?" she enquired, seeing the look on his face.

"We need to go back to The Burrow. There's something I need to tell you."

"But – "

"Please Ginny! It's really important."

She nodded and followed him. On the way, Harry got hold of Ron.

"Tell your parents that I've gone back to the house with Ginny, just in case they wonder where we've got to."

Ron gave him a quizzical look.

"Why are you heading back already? They're about to cut the cake."

"Save us a couple of pieces," he replied impatiently, "but please Ron, it's urgent."

Ron nodded, and the two of them hurried off into the trees and disapparated.


	16. Harry's Diary

Chapter 16 – Harry's Diary

Owing to the enchantments placed upon The Burrow, Ginny was the only one of the two who was able to open the front door. She and Harry immediately made their way up to the top floor.

"Now," said Ginny, slowly catching her breath, "what exactly was so important?"

Harry sat on his bed and stared at the floor, utterly unsure of how to begin. After an overly long silence, Ginny began to worry.

"Harry?"

He raised his head and looked at her gravely.

"Ginny, I am about to tell you something terrible," he began, "something that I dearly wish wasn't true. If I could make it untrue, I would."

Ginny let these words linger as he continued.

"Whatever happens, I will understand any reaction you have. Tears, anger, disbelief; you may want to run away, break something, or even attack me, just for being the bearer of bad news. Everyone will have to be told soon, but I couldn't bear to tell them until after the wedding."

She smiled kindly at him.

"Harry, listen to me. Since the day I fell in love with you, I have thought about what it would be like to have you, then lose you; what it would be like if I could never see you again. You've had a way of attracting danger for a long time, so believe me, I've been preparing myself for bad news."

Harry returned to contemplating his shoes. He knew Ginny was a strong witch, and a very brave one too, but he still wasn't sure if he had the heart to tell her. It was only when he heard the voice of his conscience inside telling him that it would be far worse not to, that he began.

"Remember when you and Hermione woke me up in the small hours and I had to take a scout around in the garden with Tonks?"

He paused as she nodded.

"Well…I…we…_did_ find something."

He swallowed hard, fearing that he was about to be sick all over Ginny's dress, and stared her determinedly in the eye.

"Ginny…" he stammered, "Percy's dead."

The change in her expression was so gradual that for a moment, Harry thought she hadn't heard him properly. It wasn't disbelief and it wasn't anger. He could have handled the situation better if it had been, but what he saw was far worse. It was pure, stone cold sadness, bleak and helpless. He watched as her face slowly fell, never daring to imagine what was going on in her mind. The silence was becoming like an immense gulf between them.

"How?" she said quietly.

"We found him near the house, wrapped in some kind of shroud with the Dark Mark floating above him. It was getting light, so it wasn't very clear in the sky. They must have levitated the body there from quite a long distance, because there was no way they could've got anywhere near us themselves."

Ginny took a deep, shaky breath before she replied.

"What did they do to him?" she asked.

This was a clearly a subject to be handled delicately. Harry found it particularly difficult with flashing pictures of Percy's mutilated body in his head.

"I really don't know, Ginny," he said, hoping that he sounded convincing enough, "I really wouldn't want to think about that. There was a message er…left on him. It just said 'Consequences'. Ginny, I am _so_ sorry."

As he looked up, her head was bowed towards the floor. These may have been the early moments, and the shock of it may have still been sinking in, But Harry thought she was being remarkably brave about the whole thing. He rested his face in his hands and marvelled at how fast things had changed. His life, the lives of everyone in this world; he just wanted it all to slow down so that he would have time to think. He could now hear nothing in the room but a faint tapping. Listening carefully, he lifted his head and looked around. Many moments passed before he discovered the source of the noise. It was Ginny's tears splashing softly against the floorboards. Only when she sniffed and wiped a hand across her eyes did she speak again.

"I threw food at him," she began slowly, "It was the last time I would ever hear his voice…and I threw food at him."

"Ginny, come on, nobody could have seen this happening," said Harry gently, "You mustn't beat yourself up over it, not when it's so clear who's to blame."

She tried to be comforted by this, but wasn't finding it easy to do so.

"Harry, he was my brother! He may have been a first class prick, but he was still my brother, and whatever else he deserved, he didn't deserve this!"

There was nothing he could really say to this. Every word she said was true, and all he could do was be there for her if she needed him. Still, he felt should say something.

"Listen, if you want me to go – "

"I don't," she said quickly, "Just…just stay, please."

Harry sat there, struggling to find words of comfort. He knew what it was like to lose someone close, but this didn't make the situation any easier. What could he do? It was then that he remembered the diary that Hermione had given him. He reached behind his trunk and withdrew the large black leather-bound book. Ginny looked on in curiosity as he opened it. On the first page were simply written the names Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley.

"I started writing in this after I came back upstairs that morning. I couldn't sleep at all, I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone about it, so all I could do was think and write."

He handed it to her, and lay back on the bed as she turned the page and read the ink that had suddenly appeared.

'The first life taken was one too many.

The first bridge crossed was one too far

One day soon, the suffering shall be his

A day that judges all.

There is blood, there is pain

But the agony is not in vain

For there's life after death

Where son of Gryffindor shall be at rest.'

She stared at the page, trying to smile within her grief.

"Harry," she said.

He sat up and looked into her emerald green eyes.

"What is it?" he enquired anxiously.

"Thank you," she replied.

Then, for the second time in a week, Harry felt Ginny's tears on his shoulder. Resting his head on hers, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

They were suddenly roused by the voice of Molly Weasley.

"You two!" she squawked, "Are you determined to make me nothing but a bundle of nerves? I'd been looking here, there and everywhere!"

They both rubbed their eyes and hastened to explain.

"Harry told Ron to tell you that we were coming back here," yawned Ginny.

Before Harry could get a word in edgeways, Mrs Weasley continued.

"Oh well, that's very considerate of you, but your messenger boy must have got distracted somehow, because you'd been gone well over an hour before he thought to let me know. You are both well aware of how important it is that we stick together! Anything could've happened!"

Taking a deep, calming breath, and acknowledging that neither of the two had come to any harm, her voice became rational once more.

"Anyway, everyone's downstairs having a drink if you want to come down and join us. Well, everyone but a certain son of mine who obviously thought it beneath him to attend his own brother's wedding and never sent so much as a word of explanation! Mark my words, he'll be getting a howler at work first thing tomorrow!"

And with that, she scurried back down the staircase. Ginny didn't even have to look at Harry to know what he was thinking, and Harry could tell that she knew.

"I'll tell them all tomorrow morning," he said, "I just don't think I can handle that much sorrow at the moment."

Ginny remained silent. She knew that it was difficult for him too, but her thoughts were far too chaotic for her to be able to talk with him about it. What he had told her still seemed a little unreal. This was like something she might read in the Daily Prophet, something that had happened to other people, but she had always thought of her family as survivors. There were voices in her head that reminded her of how three family members, herself included, had narrowly escaped death, and it was all down to the young wizard whose arm was resting around her shoulders. That was why she _had_ to accept what had happened. After the lives he had saved, she knew he would never lie or joke about something like this. However, it was not just the death of her brother that troubled her.

"Harry," she said, getting to her feet, "I'd like to be alone for a while."

He stood up and hugged her tightly.

"I'll be here for you if you want to talk or anything," he said as she turned to leave.

At the same time the following day, Harry found himself in exactly the same place, sitting back on his bed, deep in thought, but the atmosphere had changed and there was nothing he could do about it. With the exception of Ginny and Bill (the latter of whom was staying with his new wife in Hogsmead for a few days), the family had been gathered around the kitchen table as Harry had related the sorrowful truth to them. He had tried to break the news as gently as he possibly could, but this was a blow that simply could not be cushioned.

After the initial shock had been delivered, Harry felt a lump in his throat as there came loud sobs from Mrs Weasley. Her equally stunned husband did his best to comfort her, but after the tragic facts of what had occurred, Harry himself could find no words of consolation for any of them. What was perhaps most haunting of all was the brave faces of Charlie, Fred, George and Ron. He knew they had been badly stung, but it was the thoughtful expressions masking the pain inside that made Harry wish that he could slip away un-noticed under his invisibility cloak. Hermione had put her arms around Ron, unable to stop herself from crying a little, and waiting for when he would also need a shoulder to cry on. All she could think was that she must have seen the silhouette of a fleeing Death Eater against the rising sun that morning.

And there sat Harry, in the higher most room of The Burrow, trying again to understand how all this had come to be. It was late in the evening, and he had too much of a pounding headache to sleep. He felt it was something of an injustice that neither Tonks nor Lupin had been there for moral support, but they had apparently had to leave the wedding early on business with the Order. He watched Ron sleeping in the bed opposite, hoping that his sleep was as peaceful as it could be under the circumstances. Harry decided that he had be somewhere else.

He ventured quietly down into the kitchen and found Mrs Weasley sitting there with a heavily tearstained face and her hair in a mess. The wine bottle on the table was empty. She looked up as he approached, and managed a smile.

"Ah, Harry," she said, in a very cracked voice, "How are you?"

"Well," he began, joining her at the table, "I don't suppose you have anything for headaches?"

The moment these words were out of his mouth, he realised this was almost as idiotic as if he were asking Madam Pomfrey the question. It would be a tragic day indeed when Molly Weasley did not possess such remedies. With a flick of her wand, she summoned a small corked bottle of red liquid from a high cupboard and landed it in front of Harry.

"Just gulp down a few drops of that" she said lazily.

He uncorked the bottle and took a small sip of the liquid. The moment it ran down his throat, he could feel the pain in his temples washing away. A brief look of contentment appeared on his face that Mrs Weasley recognised immediately.

"Better?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Well, everyone in this family has sworn by it at one time or another."

Harry decided that now might be the time to have a proper one-on-one conversation with her, something he couldn't remember having done before in his life. Things had to be said.

"Look, I am so sorry about what's happened," he said, returning the bottle to its home, "I know how painful it can be to lose someone, and I just wish that something could've been done to prevent it."

She could see what he was getting at straight away.

"You can't be everywhere at once, Harry," she replied with a small laugh, "No, I should have been ready for something like this to happen. It's happened to many magical families, and will probably happen to many more."

Harry wasn't having any of this. Her response was actually angering him.

"But it's not something that we should just have to accept!" he returned, "You know better than I do why these things happen, and exactly who is behind it!"

Some of the old fire then appeared in Mrs Weasley's complexion.

"Of course I know who's behind it, we _all_ do! We don't call him 'You-Know-Who' for nothing!" she seethed, "But how can it end? We're all living in fear under a shadow that darkens every day, but what can any of us do about it?"

Harry could not quite believe this, that a member of the Order of the Phoenix was taking such a defeatist stance. This time, he had no control over the words that just spilled out of him.

"It will end when I destroy him," he said coldly, "He and every one of his followers will pay for what they've done, I will see to that myself."

This took her aback. She gaped at him for a few seconds before she could speak again.

"Listen Harry," she croaked, "I know what people have said about you, and I know you're as brave as any wizard I've encountered, but I know none who would be both brave and foolhardy enough to go after him alone. There is still so much you should know before even thinking about it!"

Harry smiled at her. His exploits and decisions had often been considered 'foolhardy', even by his closest friends. Since the age of twelve, Mrs Weasley had been the nearest he had had to a mother, as such, he needed her to know that hope was not lost.

"Indeed there is, and Hogwarts is where I shall learn. No matter what happens, there will be four students returning for certain, to learn all that can be taught."


	17. A Troubled Mind

Chapter 17 – A Troubled Mind

Severus Snape was a wizard with more worries than most. His life was in danger, as were all those with whom he currently associated himself. He had to answer to Voldemort at every turn, and answer _very_ carefully, knowing that so much as a word that inspired anything less than absolute confidence could ruin him further. Though graced with the occasional friendly nod and scattered words of thanks, he had received precious little in return for his deeds, but reflected bitterly that this was only to be expected.

At present, he was clinging to the one thing in his life that always gave him a sense of peace and tranquillity; the art of potions. A cauldron of simmering, pale green liquid stood before him, emitting brief spiralling threads of steam into the air. To this he was adding ground eucalyptus before stirring it slowly, three times in a clockwise motion, and removed it from the fire. He had brewed another cocktail to allow Draco Malfoy, the young wizard who still rested upstairs, to regain his strength. They had both endured a terrible ordeal, but what infuriated Snape was the fact that Draco had been involved at all. The boy was far out of his depth, initially seduced by the idea of following his father's footsteps in the Dark Lord's service, but now being forced to witness the grim reality of it all. The point of no return had been passed, and Snape had no intention of changing the path along which he now headed. As for Draco, there was only the hope that he would soon understand that which had to be done.

Progress had been made over the past week. The boy was now walking around a little, and was able to digest a decent meal. Fear, together with physical and mental scarring, had severely weakened him and even under Snape's care, it would take some time for him to fully recover. Each day, Snape had tried to answer his questions and impress upon him certain truths that he had been overlooking, and today would be no different. He took a small bottle of the potion and brought it to Draco's bedside. Draco was sitting up in bed, wearing an expression that suggested he was counting the knots in the wooden door in front of him as a distraction.

"It is time for you to hear more," murmured Snape, as Draco gulped down his medicine with the usual look of distaste, "I am still your teacher, and now you will be receiving the lessons that may very well save your life."

Draco snorted sceptically.

"My _teacher_? With all due respect, I can't see Hogwarts welcoming you back with open arms any time soon."

Snape gave him a dark, lingering stare, and was sure to speak with slow, heavy emphasis on every word.

"Kindly pay attention, Malfoy."

He sat down in a large armchair near the bed and ordered his thoughts.

"How do you feel about your service to the Dark Lord?" he finally asked.

Draco turned to him suddenly, as if startled by an explosion.

"How do you think I feel? He could still kill me any time he wanted! My parents could die too! A few days ago, I was almost ready to just poison myself and save him the trouble!"

"Listen to me, and take careful note," said Snape in a very deep and stern voice, "Taking your own life will not improve matters, not if you care one shred for the lives of your family. Besides which, what I meant was how did you feel upon receiving the Dark Mark?"

Malfoy stopped to consider this. How _had_ he felt? Honoured? Awed? Or just frightened?

"I…it was only natural that I should serve him," he said weakly.

"You speak very lightly of such a decision," said Snape with a raised eyebrow, "I realise your parents would have been in grave danger had you refused, but surely there was more to it than that."

After a moment's thought, Draco stared back at him defiantly.

"It was because of the Dark Lord that my family has lived so comfortably all these years," he proclaimed, "He gave my father the wealth and influence that he has now, as a reward for his loyal service."

This took Snape very much by surprise. He fixed the boy with a pitiful stare and set about giving his first lesson.

"Who are you trying to convince of that, Mr Malfoy?" he said, and watched Draco's face fall into pure confusion, "Your family's wealth and estate were passed down through the generations, not handed to you on a plate by the Dark Lord. No, the reward your father was given for his deeds was the gift of fear. There was a certain power and influence that came with it, but fear was always at the root of it all."

He paused to watch what little colour there was drain from Draco's complexion before continuing.

"Am I to assume that your father has told you otherwise? Well, that would indeed make sense. It was fear that drew so many witches and wizards to Lord Voldemort's banner. By association, they would then be feared by others, _that_ was the reward."

Draco still said nothing. He was not at all sure how to interpret this information, coming from a Death Eater.

"There was, of course, a good deal of foundation to it. After all, the Dark Lord has powers that few in the history of our world have ever possessed."

He leaned closer towards Draco and spoke with a tone of genuine concern.

"I do not believe that you understand how symbolic the Dark Mark really is. Those who step aside for him, or betray others for his benefit, would normally be doing so out of fear. But those serve him unprompted, and receive the Dark Mark, do so out of allegiance. That you did it to save your family is laudable, but there are consequences beyond your comprehension that must now be faced."

Draco's recent suffering had left his mind unguarded, and it proved very simple task for Snape to now use Legilimency against him. Inside, all he could see was a frightened young wizard who had been thrown into horror for which he wasn't prepared. Draco could feel the piercing gaze, and knew exactly what it meant, but could do nothing to prevent it. The mask of pretence was now lifted, and with a desperate sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he returned to looking as bad as he felt.

"Professer, what should I do?" he pleaded.

Snape stood up and turned to go, in the same earnest manner in which he had arrived.

"You will concentrate on restoring your health, and do whatever I or the Dark Lord should ask of you. It will be of no service to your parents if you should get yourself killed."

He turned as he reached the door.

"And prepare yourself as best you can. I feel that he will soon return, and when that happens, you will have to answer for yourself."

As he left the room, Draco pondered what all this could mean for him. He had lost track of time since being brought here, but imagined that if Hogwarts were to remain open, any students who had been permitted to go back would be doing so very soon. All of them would need their wits about them if they were to remain safe from harm, but this was where Draco felt a strong twinge of envy. For the time being, _he_ would need his wits about him just to stay alive.


	18. Back to the Hallowed Halls

Chapter 18 – Back to the Hallowed Halls

The atmosphere on Platform Nine and Three Quarters was sombre and nervous. In fact, if a muggle happened to chance upon the platform somehow, they would think a funeral was about to take place. Harry was reflecting that some blowing tumbleweed would have completed the scene perfectly.

Barely a smile had been raised from anyone since the news of Percy's death. A definite effort had been made on Ginny's birthday to brighten the mood a little, but she was having none of it, and insisted upon locking herself away from Harry, from her family, from the world. Hermione was once again back in the bedroom on the lower floor as a gesture to Ginny in her need for solitude. Fred and George, whom Harry had always known to be jokers and mischief-makers even in the worst of times, were now as silent and sorrowful as anyone else in the house.

There was now tighter security than ever placed on the Hogwarts Express. Lupin, Tonks, Bill Weasley, and half a dozen Aurors from the Ministry had all been stationed along the platform, having swept the train for any signs of danger. Molly Weasley was keeping a close eye on the group that stood with her. The death of one of her sons had shaken the foundations of her being, not simply because he was family, but also because she had always been so protective of her children and felt that she had now failed them.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry stood shivering with their trunks by their sides, waiting for the all-clear to board the train. Harry had his arms around Ginny, but still didn't feel close to her. She was still just as distant from him as she had been from any of the others, which had become very upsetting. He could understand her grieving for Percy, but he couldn't help thinking that something else wasn't right. She had denied this whenever he asked her, which made things even more difficult, because he wouldn't be so insensitive as to pester her about it at a time like this. Hermione was distracted by the erratic behaviour of Crookshanks, who was now hiding behind her trunk and snarling.

The number of students on the platform was, as expected, radically decreased from last year, though there were still a surprising number of new first years there. As Ron pointed this out to be a positive sign of defiance, the mood seemed to lift slightly, even though faces did not. As a signal was given for students to board, Mrs Weasley turned to the four of them. Her voice was low and melancholy, yet brave with a strength that they had all recognised in her.

"Listen very carefully, you lot," she said, pointing a finger from one to another, "You are not to leave the castle without an escort. Stick together whenever possible, and follow any command given to you by a teacher. As well as the Hogwarts staff, there will be Aurors and members of The Order on duty at all times, and from the moment you leave your dormitories in the morning to the moment you return to them in the evening, you must _never_ leave the sight of at least one of them. Now, if I find out that any of these rules have been bent in any way, I'll be there in the blink of an eye to baby-sit you myself! Am I understood?"

All four of them nodded whole-heartedly, heads bowed in shame as if they had already disobeyed her. This time, there would be no witty retorts or sceptical remarks that she was being over-cautious. It was advice that they were very willing to take. Before they had a chance to pick up their trunks, Mrs Weasley lunged forward and grasped them all into a tight hug.

"Oh my dears!" she wailed with a tear in her eye, "Come back safely, all of you!"

They were then approached by Bill, who was also finding it hard to smile.

"Alright kiddies, time to get on," he said, "And I'll be keeping a close eye on the lot of you."

"Where's Fleur?" asked Hermione.

"She's staying back in France with her parents for a while. We'll hopefully be looking for our own place soon. I think we'll be going to Cannes for a few days in a month or so, just as a kind of belated honeymoon. She's been very understanding about…well, you know."

They clambered on board, hauling their belongings on after them. After passing two compartments of very nervous first years, they happened upon Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Over the past couple of years, Harry had gradually thought of it as less unusual to see the pair together. Neville greeted the group excitedly.

"Oh, thank goodness you've all come back!" he beamed, hastily adding, "Of course, I _knew_ you would be, but it's just nice to see more friendly faces. What did your parents think about it?"

This could only be directed at Ginny and Ron, as Hermione's parents knew very little of the goings-on at Hogwarts.

"They knew from the start that we'd be coming back," replied Ron, "In fact, they'd probably see it as an insult to Dumbledore if we didn't."

"I know what you mean," he nodded, "My Grandmother said that I'd finally proved I could look after myself. She also said she'd be damned if she was going to keep me locked indoors the rest of my life, so here I am."

Hermione heaved her trunk on to the luggage rack, leaving Ron feeling a little ashamed that he hadn't already offered to do it for her, and sat next to Luna who was idly flicking through a recent copy of The Quibbler, the newspaper run by her father that had enjoyed a large boost in circulation after printing an exclusive interview with Harry on Voldemort's return. Before Ginny could sit down, Harry gave her a nudge.

"Could I have a word with you in private?" he whispered.

She hesitated and looked over the faces of Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville, as if looking for guidance. She then turned back to him.

"Erm…alright,"

Harry placed their trunks on the rack and led the way along the corridor in search of an empty compartment. They passed Crabb and Goyle on their way, both of whom were staring out of the window, once again looking somewhat lost without the leadership of Draco Malfoy. It was only when Harry remembered that their families were still avid supporters of Voldemort that his sympathy for them stopped short. Dodging quickly and quietly past Professor Slughorn, the potions master who seemed intent on claiming a strong acquaintance with the great Harry Potter at every possible opportunity, they ducked into the next available compartment and sat down. Harry was determined to gain a better understanding of Ginny's behaviour, and this seemed like an ideal moment to do so. Tact and delicacy were required, but the fact that she now seemed hesitant to be alone with him only served to confuse him further.

"Ginny, I know that the past month must have been horrible for you," he said gently, thinking that this had to be the best way to begin, "and I know that you must still be very upset about everything."

She was even finding it difficult to _look_ at him now. This wasn't going well _at all_, he thought.

"You've needed to be alone, and I can understand that. It's just that…even for a little while before the wedding, it felt like you…didn't really want to be close to me."

At this her eyes finally met his, and stayed there as he continued.

"I just wanted to know if it was something I've done or something I said...apart from…you know."

Something about her expression told Harry that she was feeling conflicted. He had usually been very bad at knowing what girls were thinking, even Hermione, but Ginny was different. He could feel her wanting to confide in him, but maybe she was just having trouble saying what she had to say.

"Harry, I…it's not you," she breathed sadly, "I've never stopped feeling the way I feel for you…I've never stopped thinking about you, but – "

As she broke off, Harry was suddenly alarmed that she was about to say something that would leave him heartbroken. He braced himself and waited for her to continue.

"There's just…there's…something inside; something telling me to…stay away. Not just from you, from everyone. I'm scared, Harry, because I don't WANT to be away from you. I sometimes feels like something really bad is happening to me, and I don't want it to happen to you too. I can't let _anything_ happen to you, Harry."

Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief, but this information was not to be taken lightly. He had come to learn that Ginny was quite a complex individual, and if something was worrying her, then it would worry him too.

"Ginny, just think of all the things we'll have to face together," he said, putting an arm around her, "None of it is something we'd want to face if we had the choice. Whatever this feeling is, I'll be here to help you through it."

She stared longingly at him, wishing it were as simple as he made out, and yawned heavily. Harry smiled sympathetically and thought to himself how wonderful it would be if they could both recover from having their lives turned upside down.

"Sleep much last night?" he offered.

"Hardly a wink" she replied.

So saying, she curled up on the seat, rested her head in Harry's lap and closed her eyes. At that moment, Tonks popped her head round the door.

"Everything alright?" she asked, trying to sound as bright and cheerful as she could.

"I thought that was for you lot to say," said Harry, a little confused, "Expecting any trouble?"

"It's our job," she winked, instantly tinting her hair bright green as she did so, "Oh, and Harry, I'm really sorry I haven't been there to help out recently; The Order needed all hands on deck, and it really hasn't been easy."

Harry knew not to expect her to elaborate on this. Given the gravity of his situation, he couldn't help feeling patronised when any of them referred to their activities as 'Order business' or 'urgent matters', as if his age forbade him the right to further explanation. Oh well, he thought, maybe they'd be held responsible if his ignorance led him to an early grave. Before he could give this any more thought, Professor Slughorn appeared beside Tonks. The sound of his voice prompted a groan from Harry, and a determination from Ginny to complete the task of falling asleep.

"Merlin's beard!" he cried ecstatically, "I did hear a whispering around the train that you were somewhere to be found! You know, I was beginning to have doubts about whether you'd be coming back, circumstances, err…being what they are and all. Silly of me, I know. First moment I laid eyes on you, I could see that fearless quality. Instinct's never failed me yet. Well, hardly ever."

He dismissed these last words with a growling cough and took the seat opposite before Harry could utter so much as a syllable of protest. Tonks had conveniently disappeared.

"So, the young Weasley tired out already, is she?" he remarked, indicating the sleeping Ginny.

"Err, yes," said Harry hastily, "So, Professor, how was your summer?"

"Bloody horrible," he shuddered, "Why, you remember yourself what I was reduced to last year, and the days are darkening in more ways than one. Word to the wise, my lad, dark wizards have precious little consideration for the holiday arrangements of others, and woe betide if I catch one of the little toe rags apparating into _my_ living room!"

Harry was beginning to panic at the prospect of being questioned about HIS summer. Thankfully, there came a welcome knock from Hermione who, Harry presumed, had been loitering in the corridor.

"Professor, could you possibly help me out with one of the chapters in N.E.W.T level Potions reading? Thought I'd be able to digest it all by now."

Harry smiled to himself. Anyone who really knew Hermione would know that by the time a new school year started, she would have all such reading material committed to memory. Professor Slughorn, however, remained blissfully unaware.

"Certainly, certainly," he replied, "err, Miss Grainger, isn't it? Yes, only too happy to help."

He turned apologetically to Harry.

"Well, we shall have to continue this later. Duty calls!"

As Slughorn left the compartment, Harry was on the point of whispering to Ginny that the coast was clear, when he realised that she was genuinely asleep. Just looking at her resting so peacefully created a pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach, where the creature inside him was swimming happily in a dream-like state.

He stared out of the window, savouring the picturesque scenery. This was something he had not done properly since his first year at Hogwarts. When they had left The Burrow that morning, there had been not a single cloud in the sky, but as he now surveyed the open countryside, his view was beginning to darken under a blanket of grey. Before long, the window of the train was spattered with rain, and the distant rumble of a thunderstorm sounded overhead. The rain started to thicken into a steady downpour, and gloom descended across the landscape. A sheet of lightening flashed across the clouds, and with a sudden violent burst of thunder, Ginny awoke.

She began to shake, and fell off the seat where she had been curled up. Harry wasted no time in helping her to her feet.

"Ginny, are you alright? What's wrong?"

She staggered this way and that, with Harry attempting to steady her. Turning sharply away from him, she wretched and vomited against the window. As she spat out the aftertaste, she raised her head and spoke in a low, venomous tone that Harry had never yet heard.

"Where is he?" she demanded, "Tell me!"

Harry was a little too shocked to think clearly about what she was asking him. Before he could think of an answer, she fell back against the opposite seat with a frenzied look of terror. He approached her slowly and cautiously, not wishing to alarm her further, but stopped dead in his tracks as she drew her wand.

"Ginny? It's me, don't be frightened," he said, "Just tell me what's – "

"_Soporum_!" she hissed.

Harry suddenly felt weak and dropped to his knees. He looked up at her, completely at a loss.

"Ginny, what are you…?"

Before he could finish, he dropped to the floor and lost consciousness.

The next thing he felt was someone shaking him by the arm. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by Lupin, Hermione, Ron, and Bill. They were all grinning at him.

"Personally, I've never thought the floor of the train would be that comfortable to sleep on," Lupin remarked, "but I suppose everyone has their own opinion."

Harry shook himself and gazed at all of them, trying to make sense of what happened.

"G..Ginny…what happened to her?"

"She came to see us a few minutes ago, saying she didn't feel very well," said Ron, "She's just having a sit-down in there with Luna and Neville. What happened to you?"

He paused to think about what _had_ happened to him. Resolving to get the truth out of Ginny himself, he decided to leave matters as vague as they were.

"I…I don't know," he replied, which, while omitting certain details, was still true, "I just sort of…fell asleep."

Lupin eyed him suspiciously.

"We had a report of a disturbance in the corridor," he said, "Some of the younger students said they'd heard a loud scrabbling noise, and seen something flash past the doors."

"We were just coming up here to investigate, and we found you lying here on the floor," added Bill, "Thought you'd been attacked for a moment, but your breathing was fine, and you were even drooling. You must've been exhausted to be able to sleep down there."

Harry steadied himself against the opposite seat and noticed that the sleeve of his jacket was a little tattered, even ripped at, with cat hairs on it.

"What the…?" he began.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," said Hermione, "I found Crookshanks in here, up on the luggage rack. He was dashing around all over the place, frightened out of his wits. He hasn't been himself for a while now, so I think I might have him looked at when we get to school."

"I'LL say!" put in Ron, "Did you see how fast he scampered off howling when Ginny walked in? I always said he was a nutcase, but this is ridiculous!"

Ron earned himself a casual glare from Hermione, and they both helped Harry to his feet.

"Maybe it was Crookshanks that was making the racket in the corridor?" Harry suggested.

"Nah, mate," said Ron, "He was with when it happened."

Harry looked outside the window, where nightfall was fast approaching. This didn't make sense. He knew it hadn't been the brightest of days anyway, but surely he hadn't slept THAT long?

"I think you'd all be best off getting changed into your school robes," said Lupin as he turned to go, "I'll just go and find Nymphadora and check the rest of the train."

Bill took them back to join the other three. As Harry entered, Ginny wasn't daring to look at him. She had retrieved her trunk from the rack and was slowly pulling her robes on over her t-shirt, while Harry shook his head in confusion and reached for his own trunk.

They sat in silence, peering out of the window for the sight of Hogsmead station. As the train eventually came to a halt, Harry could see all the Ministry Aurors hurrying on to the platform and spreading out to check the surrounding area. After about ten minutes, Bill came in and beckoned to them.

"Okay, we're letting students off one group at a time," he said, "Now, I know it might sound like we're being over-cautious, but can you all please stick together?"

They nodded and rose to their feet.

As Harry felt the wind against his face upon stepping off the train, he was relieved to see Hagrid awaiting their arrival. Hagrid's face was not so bright and cheerful as it usually was when he came to greet the new students. It was more wary and anxious this time, but he was still pleased to see Harry and his friends.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, striding over and clapping a massive hand on Harry's back, something that still managed to knock the wind out of him, "I knew you wouldn't let us all down! Now I want you to come over and visit sometime in yer first week, cause we got important things to talk about."

Hermione and Ron both gave him an enthusiastic greeting, and he led the six of them over to the first Thestral drawn carriage. Thestrals were most intriguing, horse-like creatures that were unique in the sense that they were only visible to those who had witnessed death in their lives.

"Now I gotta go and meet all the young 'uns," said Hagrid gruffly, "You take care of yerselves, _all_ of yeh. Welcome back to Hogwarts."


	19. Missing Faces

Chapter 19- Missing Faces

The rare glances exchanged between Harry and Ginny on the journey to the castle only took place when one thought that the other wasn't looking. For the time being, both Ron and Hermione had decided not to interfere in this, and instead pondered over how different everything would be now at Hogwarts. They knew for certain that there would be fewer chairs set out for the feast that evening, and hoped at the same time that those who were absent would at least be safely in their own homes.

Entering the great hall, they found themselves flanked on either side by those who had also returned. Ernie MacMillan, the pompous Hufflepuff prefect, stood to their left, along with Michael Corner and Colin Creavey. On their right, entered Seamus Finnegan and, to Ron's embarrassment, Lavender Brown, followed by a small crowd of third and fourth years. Nobody could help noticing that there were fewer places laid out on the Slytherin table than for any of the other houses, and many drew the same conclusions from this.

Just as Harry headed towards the Gryffindor table, he felt a savage push from behind and stumbled as he turned around. Pansy Parkinson stood there accompanied by Millicent Bulstrode. Her look of cruel amusement changed to one of undisguised hatred as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"So, I suppose you believe everything they're writing about you now, aren't you?" she sneered, "Dumbledore's favourite comes to save the world, is it? Well, let me tell you something; you are nothing special, Potter, just a troublemaker who got his fifteen minutes of fame!"

She slowly moved in towards him, her face rising in temperature with every step she took. Harry stood his ground.

"It's because of YOU that my parents are being investigated by the Ministry. It's because of YOU that some of my closest friends have been kept away from here, and it's because of YOU that my Draco has been driven away! He could be _dead_ because of YOU!"

Harry was unfazed by these accusations and even grinned slightly as he replied.

"Your Draco made his own choices. If he's got himself into trouble that he can't handle, then it's no fault of mine. And if he's dead, then he dug his own grave."

Pansy was shaking with fury at this and made to lunge at him.

"YOU F…!"

She stopped dead as she noticed Ginny's wand, mere inches from her face, and slowly took a step back.

"Touch him again, and I will personally show you what your insides look like!" she snarled, watching the Slytherin girls backing off grudgingly.

Calmly shifting her eyes between Ginny and Harry, Pansy composed herself.

"This isn't over, Potter," she muttered harshly, without blinking, "Like I said, you're nothing special. You'll be looking over both shoulders everywhere you go, for the rest of your life. Not that it will be a long life, from what I hear."

She turned on her heal and walked away towards the Slytherin table.

"Oh, and Potter," she called back over her shoulder, "Tell your blood-traitor girlfriend that she's walking on wafer-thin ice herself."

The red mist swept over Harry, and he fiercely drew his own wand. It was unfortunately at that moment that Professor McGonagall made her entrance.

"Potter!" she said sternly, marching up to him past a startled group of second years, "Unless you happen to be demonstrating a duelling stance to your peers, I suggest you control yourself and lower your wand this instant!"

Grumbling a protest under his breath that McGonagall chose not to hear, he put his wand away and walked with the others to their places, amidst quiet sniggering from the Slytherin table. Ginny nervously put her arm around him as they sat down, then leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about" she whispered in his ear.

Harry turned to her, wondering if she was hoping that he wouldn't question her about what happened on the train.

"I won't have anyone calling you a blood-traitor, or anything else".

Ginny gave him the kind of embarrassed smile that he hadn't seen on her since visiting The Burrow just before his fourth year at Hogwarts.

"She can call me whatever she wants, I don't care," she replied, "What I meant was that you _are_ going to save the world."

This completely threw him off track. From anyone else, he would have greeted this statement with apprehension and scepticism, but coming from her, he could almost believe it to be true. Coming from her, it felt like it meant something. He tried to smile back at her, but she was already looking withdrawn again and avoiding eye contact with everyone else on the table.

The rest of the school were now filing into the hall, and Ron, Harry and Hermione could plainly see the rapid decline in numbers. Dean Thomas, Romilda Vain and both the Patil twins were missing from the seventh year Gryffindors alone. Neither Owen Cauldwell nor Hannah Abbot were present at the Hufflepuff table, and Harry hadn't spotted a single member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. There were a lot more absent whom the three of them would have recognised by sight.

"Will the new first years please step this way!" called the Headmistress, beckoning to the crowd of frightened looking youngsters at the end of the hall. They trooped forward obediently, and the eyes of the older students automatically turned to the wooden stool a little way in front of the staff table, where the Sorting Hat had now been placed. It was tradition that the Hat would wax lyrical to welcome in the new school year, and though it was a perilous time for all, this year would be no different. And so, the crack near the brim of the worn and battered old hat opened as a mouth, and it began.

"It is time again to pass the knowledge of centuries gone by.

I see before me faces young who thought they'd have a try.

Come one, come all, if hearts be true, and minds be keen to grow,

Just try me on, and oh, where should this witch or wizard go?

To Ravenclaw, where study reigns and genius abounds?

In Gryffindor, the brave, the strong, the folk who stand their ground.

Fair Hufflepuff would welcome all who simply came to learn,

And Slytherin for pride of blood, ambitious fires burn.

The magic flowing through your veins is what has called you here

Though shadows lengthen, souls corrupt, and lives are ruled by fear

You came to show in days like these, this magic will live on

For Hogwarts school is here for you, the place where you belong.

When words are spoken, work is done, and wisdom learned by all

The question remains of the dangers that lie beyond these hallowed walls.

When unity is broken, and loyalty cast aside

The end will come for this wonderful world in which we all take pride."

The applause for this verse was significantly weaker than it had been in previous years. The student population had been depleted of course, but also, the Sorting Hat's song had always been known to end on a positive note of some kind, and Harry couldn't help but feel that it had only served to further sour the atmosphere in the hall.

Professor McGonagall stood beside the Sorting Hat, and began to call out the names of the new first years.

"Collins, Tristania!"

The whole school watched as a very nervous girl with messy blond hair walked up to the stool and placed the hat on her head.

"Ravenclaw!" cried the hat a few moments later, followed by a loud cheer from the Ravenclaw table.

"Darius, Robert!"

"Slytherin!" declared the hat, after only a second.

"Drake, Samantha!" called MacGonagall, as Robert was welcomed by the Slytherins.

"Ravenclaw!"

There was further celebration from Ravenclaw house, and so the sorting went on. By the time Andrea Wingthorn had been placed in Hufflepuff, All eyes seemed to be on the Gryffindor table, who had only four new students to their name.

Douglas Finch was a slightly twitchy young wizard with smooth curtains of black hair and eyes that were constantly darting all around, observing his new surroundings. On his way to join the other Gryffindors, he had tripped over his shoelaces amidst gales of laughter from the neighbouring tables, and had a certain clumsy way about him that reminded Harry of his first encounter with Neville.

Imelda Larkin and her twin sister Katrina had been delighted to be placed in Gryffindor house. They were identical in every way as far as Harry could see. Both were of the same height, sporting the same waist-length blond hair, and not so much as a freckle or difference in eye colour to tell them apart. They were so alike that Harry was very much hoping that he would never have the need to address either one of them by name. He rolled his eyes as he noticed them nudging each other and trying to be subtle about pointing to the scar on his forehead. No matter how used he was to this kind of thing, he often thought that he would be very grateful if someone could just remove it for him.

Dale Tulstan was the final arrival at the table. He was, without a doubt, the most apprehensive individual in the hall. He was no smaller that most of the other first years, but still seemed to be from the way that he shrunk into his seat, and looked as though he was wishing to be somewhere else. Harry was caught by the look in his eyes, as if something terrible had happened to him, and as if being here wasn't much better. Something about him seemed to draw out Harry's sympathy, and knowing how Ron delighted in abusing his position as prefect by frightening younger students, he decided he would have a chat with Dale when the time was right.

The Headmistress took her place at the staff table, and began her address to the school. This was a bizarre experience for most of the student body, as they had always been used to hearing Dumbledore's voice at this point. Many of them looked confused as she spoke.

"I would like to start by welcoming all the newcomers to Hogwarts, and of course all those who are returning. Owing to recent tragic events, there will be a few new school rules this year, as well as new safety measures that will be put into practice."

This was obviously to be expected, and glances were exchanged as the students braced themselves for the restrictions that were to be placed on their day to day lives.

"I regret to inform you that the Quidditch House Cup will not be taking place this year, nor will there be any team practices held. Madame Hooch will continue to provide flying lessons for the first years, but if I see a broom rise off the ground without express permission from me at any other time, disciplinary action will be taken."

Harry hadn't counted on Quidditch being possible this year, not when more urgent matters were at hand, but this still brought back wistful memories of past glory. Ginny simply stared at the table in front of her. As far as she was concerned, the professor could have just announced that Transfiguration lessons would now be taught by the giant squid that resided in the lake beside the Hogwarts grounds. It was all meaningless to her at that moment.

"As you will have no doubt heard by now, the school will be patrolled around the clock by Aurors from the Ministry of Magic," she continued, indicating the row of witches and wizards standing beside the staff table, "They will be stationed in the corridors, and at every entrance to the castle. It will be part of their job to escort all students to lessons that take place outside the main building, and it is the responsibility of you all, especially the older students, to report _anything_ unusual to them _immediately_."

This was prompting everyone, first years in particular, to wonder exactly what she meant by 'unusual'. Much as it distressed him, Harry was tempted to report Ginny to them. He was itching to get her alone and find out what _really_ happened.

"Every item of owl post will be double checked for any signs of dark magic, and our caretaker, Mr Filch will be posting up lists of banned items. All such items received by post will be confiscated. There will, unfortunately, be no scheduled trips to Hogsmead, and any pupil caught wandering the grounds outside of lessons without an escort will be punished accordingly. I beg of you all to understand that these measures are taken purely out of concern for your safety."

Necessary as this was, it wasn't the most reassuring thing for the newcomers to hear.

"Finally, a notice to all sixth year students that last year's cancelled O.W.L exams will begin in six weeks' time. Your teachers will of course be happy to provide any assistance with revision that you should require. Good luck to you all! If we stand firmly together, I am certain that we shall triumph in the face of adversity. Let the feast begin!"

With these words, the tables were filled with dishes of food and jugs of pumpkin juice. As everyone delightedly filled their plates, the eyes of Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna and Neville were all turned on Ginny, who seemed oblivious to the banquet that had just appeared before her.

"Come on, Ginny, you've barely had a thing to eat all day!" muttered Ron in exasperation, "You've got to have something to keep your strength up!"

She looked around at Harry with a dazed, almost helpless look on her face. He nodded as if to tell her that he wouldn't see her starve either. To keep them all happy for the moment, she placed a solitary chicken leg on her plate and poured herself some pumpkin juice, which she simply nursed pensively in front of her.

"Mr Potter and Miss Weasley, see me afterwards!" called McGonagall from the staff table.

The heads of every first year in the hall turned sharply at the sound of the name 'Potter'.


	20. Eve of Wisdom

Chapter 20 – Eve of Wisdom

Ron groaned as the feast ended. It would now be his and Hermione's job to chaperone the new Gryffindors for the evening.

"Oh well, should be easier this year with only four of them," he muttered to Hermione, "But you're taking the twins. I don't think I can remember the names, never mind which is which."

Hermione smiled and shook her head as they got to their feet and addressed the four new pupils.

"Alright you lot, we'll take you along to your common room," barked Ron, and hastily added, "Oh, and watch out for the stairs."

His own words then made him feel quietly distraught, for it seemed only yesterday that Percy, himself a former Gryffindor prefect, had been giving him the very same advice. Hermione squeezed his hand and beckoned to Dale, Douglas and the Larkin twins to follow them. As the hall was gradually emptied, Harry and Ginny made their way up to the staff table.

"Ah, Potter, just to let you know about what will be happening to you," began the Headmistress, "As you will have guessed, you will be on a restricted curriculum. You will continue to study Transfiguration, though as with all your subjects, this will be based around both N.E.W.T and post-N.E.W.T competency. Your other timetabled subjects will be Advanced Magical Defence, Charms, and Occlumency. Others may be added, should it prove necessary."

"Who's taking the classes?" he enquired.

"I will continue to teach Transfiguration, as Professor Flitwick will be teaching you Charms. You will be meeting your other teachers tomorrow morning, so report to my office at ten o'clock sharp; same password as before."

He nodded, and she turned to Ginny.

"And now, I would like to have a private talk with you, Miss Weasley. That will be all for this evening, Potter. Get some rest."

Ginny had her head bowed as she followed Professor McGonagall. Harry stood and watched dejectedly as she left, before heading to the Gryffindor common room.

"_Pandemonium_," said Harry as he approached the portrait hole, and it swung open.

The Fat Lady in the portrait was still wearing black from head to toe, with a black veil over her face, as a sign of mourning for Dumbledore.

There was a roaring fire warming the room as he stepped inside. The two Larkin twins were sitting on the far side of the room, flicking through a book on basic Transfiguration, Hermione seemed to be giving Douglas an early Herbology lesson, and Ron, who had obviously abandoned his duties as a prefect, was munching into some chocolate frogs at the bottom of the dormitory stairs. Various students from the years in between were idly wandering here and there, some demonstrating some hilarious novelties that Harry recognised as Fred and George's craftsmanship, but the common room wasn't nearly as crowded as it would usually have been at this time.

Dale Tulstan, the more nervous and lonesome of the first years, was sitting quietly in an armchair, staring into the fire, almost hypnotised by the dancing flames. Harry calmly walked over and sat down in the chair on the other side.

"It's err…Dale, isn't it?"

The boy slowly turned his head towards Harry, and gave a hesitant nod, as if movements too large or sudden would bring down a curse on him.

"So, what do you think of Hogwarts?" he asked.

Without a change in his features, Dale shrugged and spoke in a timid and slightly husky voice.

"Dad said it's a good place."

Well, the boy had a voice at least.

"He's right," grinned Harry, "What did your parents think of you coming here now?"

Dale cleared his throat and went back to staring at the fire, trying to find the right words.

"Dad said I'd be safer here than at home. He said Professor Dumbledore would protect everyone."

Harry found it hard to get his head around this. Had Dale's dad not heard that Dumbledore had died? This was perplexing.

"Have you heard about what happened to Professor Dumbledore?"

Dale nodded glumly.

"I heard about it on the train. My dad never knew though."

Harry stayed quiet, and Dale began to speak as if he were lost in a daydream.

"The last thing he told me was to lock myself in the cupboard and stay there until he came to get me. I waited for so long. I could hear him walking about downstairs, and then he stopped. It was all quiet, and then this loud bang. I heard more footsteps and some breaking noises, and then it was quiet again. I stayed in the cupboard, just like he told me, but he never came to get me."

Harry was listening to him intently, his eyes widening in horror as the boy went on.

"It was the Headmistress that opened the door, and told me that my dad was dead. He was all I had left…"

"W..what happened to your mother?" breathed Harry at last.

"She died when my sister was born."

"Oh, you have a sister?" Harry asked, desperately searching for the silver lining in the cloud.

Dale shook his head miserably.

"She died ten minutes later."

This was about all that Harry could take. True, he had lost both of his parents, but being only one year old at the time, he had no clear memory of it. Dale, on the other hand, seemed to have endured this suffering fairly recently. One thing was for sure; he would do anything he could to help him, for as long as he remained at Hogwarts.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" said Dale.

"Yes, unfortunately" he nodded.

To Harry's utter amazement, a smile crept over Dales face.

"Dad told me about you and the things they said about you in the newspaper," he beamed, "He said he'd love to meet you one day."

Dale yawned and stretched. The poor boy was obviously exhausted.

"If you want to have a lie down, the dormitory's just up there," pointed Harry, "There should already be a bed made up for you."

The boy nodded his thanks, then shuffled across the room and up the stairs. Harry was still staring after him as Ron came over.

"Bit of an oddball, that one," murmured Ron, as he followed Harry's eye line, "Never said a word, even when Peeves was hurling owl droppings at him."

Harry pondered over this and grinned.

"Well, I'm sure there's enough people who've called _me_ 'odd' in the past!"

"That's fair enough," replied Ron, "but at least you opened your mouth and talked. Fancy a game of chess? Hermione's already got her books out, and I'm not sure I can stomach that at the moment."

"I think I'll pass," said Harry distractedly, "I just need a bit of time to think at the moment."

Ron shrugged.

"That's why I need a game of chess, because there are things that I would rather not think about. I'll try Neville or Seamus. See you later, mate."

Harry casually wondered if he had been neglecting Ron as a friend recently, but this matter would have to be addressed tomorrow. For now, he was taking full advantage of having just a little breathing space to call his own and time to go over all his immediate concerns. There had to be an explanation for Ginny's behaviour on the train. He thought for a moment that she might be possessed, for the girl he knew would not have acted like that. She had been looking for someone, but whom? The more he thought about it, the more it worried and confused him.

He felt a headache coming on, and so tried to think about something else; his meeting with the Headmistress tomorrow morning, perhaps. It was a pretty safe bet that his teachers for both Occlumency and Advanced Magical Defence would be Ministry Aurors, or possibly members of The Order of the Phoenix, but he couldn't really hazard a guess as to who they would be. Though it was all to train him for a perilous task, he couldn't help feeling a strong twinge of excitement thinking about the things he would learn.

There was always part of him that wished he had Sirius as a teacher. He stared into the common room fire and recalled to himself the times he had spoken to his Godfather through that very fireplace. Sirius would have made an excellent teacher, he decided. The warmth of the room and the comfort of the chair were making him very drowsy, and for the second time that day, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Images floated gracefully through his head. Sirius, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, none of whom were doing anything in particular, just staring at him. The faces began to fade, and now he was standing on a pathway, out in the middle of the countryside, that led to a large white cottage. He walked up to the house, looking around him to make sure this wasn't some kind of trick. As he drew near, he noticed that the front door hadn't just been opened, but blown into pieces that lay either side of the doorway. He stepped cautiously inside and saw the appalling state of the kitchen and living room. Furniture had been thrown everywhere; boxes emptied all over the floor, ornaments smashed, and in the middle of the wreckage lay the body of a man. Though Harry suspected immediately that the man was dead, he ventured up the stairs rather than investigate further.

He listened as hard as he could, and eventually heard the sound of fearful breathing. The sound became clearer as he moved towards the door of a large oak cupboard. With his wand drawn, he reached forward and tried to open it. The door was locked, but the breathing was now louder, faster, and more panicked.

"_Alohomora_," he whispered, and the door sprung open.

He was staring into the eyes of a petrified Dale Tulstan.

"Dale?" he said calmly, "Dale, it's alright. It's…"

Before he could finish, he realised that it was no longer Dale, but Ginny who was now crouching in the cupboard.

"Don't worry Harry," she said weakly, "I know you tried your best."

Her eyes turned to a piercing red, and now he leapt back in shock as she suddenly took the form of Nagini, the snake kept as a pet by Lord Voldemort. Nagini sprang forward at him, fangs bared with a hungry gaze. Just as the poisoned jaws found their mark on Harry's neck, he was shaken back to reality by the sound of the portrait hole opening.

He trembled slightly, took a deep breath and looked about him. The clock above the mantelpiece showed that it was now half past midnight, and Harry appeared to be alone. His eyes darted back to the portrait hole, and in stepped Ginny.

"Wha…what have you been doing all this time?" he asked.

There came no reply. Ginny was smiling now, and everything about her manner seemed positive. She walked up to him and, without a word, pulled him out of the chair. As she ran her fingertips down the side of his face, Harry still looked very confused.

"Ginny, wha…?"

She stopped his mouth with a kiss that also stole his breath. This seemed to wipe his mind blank. He could hear music inside his head, tingling in his fingertips, and the creature inside him was attempting to claw his way to freedom. As he savoured this image, he felt that his mind must have been playing tricks on him, for he suddenly heard what sounded like the distant roar of a lion echoing around the walls of the common room. Ginny could feel him tense up, and took him gently by the hand as she finally released his bottom lip.

"Do you hear that?" asked Harry, still stunned and trying to get his breath back.

"It's Godric," she whispered, motioning to the wall behind him.

Harry turned around, then gaped in surprise as he saw the lion on the Gryffindor crest looking down at the two of them and opening its mouth wide as another roar issued forth. It wasn't especially loud, but they could both feel it as well as hear it. Ginny took advantage of his dumbfounded silence.

"Come on, Harry," she said, leading him towards the boys' dormitory, "You look like you could do with a drink and a lie down."

All of this didn't seem real to Harry. It was as if he was outside his own body, simply observing flashes of what was happening to him. Maybe it was the fact that he had grown up around muggles, but the wizarding world continued to amaze him, and now, so did Ginny.

They had been lying on Harry's bed for nearly an hour, slowly sipping his bottle of firewhiskey. It warmed stomachs and calmed nerves while they whispered to each other. As soon as Harry had put his thoughts in order, he had probed Ginny about her behaviour that day, and about her lengthy meeting with Professor McGonagall. Her answers made him feel sure that the spirit of Professor Dumbledore was alive and well, for he had been the only person from whom Harry would have accepted the reply "I'll tell you when the time is right.". There was something so purely honest about her, that Harry had no choice but to trust in that judgement. From what he could tell, McGonagall had made her feel a lot more comfortable with the crisis she was going through, and it seemed that he would just have to be content knowing that she was feeling better. There was still that nagging sensation inside him, like an itch he had to scratch, that he _needed_ to know everything, but he couldn't remember any lessons on drawing blood out of a stone.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" said Ginny, as they lay staring up at the ceiling.

"Anything you want" came the reply.

"What do muggles know about our world?"

Harry stopped to think about this for a while. There were many laws laid down by the Ministry concerning this. Their very way of life depended on total secrecy from muggles, but he couldn't really be sure how well this had been enforced over the years.

"Well, I suppose my Aunt and Uncle know more about it than most others, as much as they wish they didn't," said Harry, "but I really couldn't say for sure. There can't be many who know about us, and any that do probably keep quiet in case people think they're mad. They'd probably try and hunt us all down if they knew, especially if the rest of them are anything like my Uncle Vernon."

Ginny sighed in a way that suggested she still thirsted for knowledge on the subject.

"I feel sorry for them," she replied, "From what you and Dad have told me, they never believe anything that isn't just placed in front of them, and they fear anything that they don't understand."

"Yes, that's true enough," he nodded, mulling the point over in his mind, "but there are times when I truly envy them."

On hearing this, she turned over and looked at Harry as if he had gone insane.

"Why the hell would you _envy_ them?"

Harry lazily drew his wand and conjured two small glasses on his bedside table.

"Fancy one last drink?" he enquired, slurring his words a little.

"Alright, just one more," she smiled, "And you'd better make that your last one as well!"

He tipped his head in agreement, then levitated the bottle and poured two measures of firewhiskey.

They clinked their glasses in a wordless toast and both drained them in one.

"Now," said Harry, as seriously as he could, "what you just saw were some simple conjuring and levitation charms. You've seen it done many times, and most likely done it yourself."

Ginny nodded, wondering what kind of point he was trying to make.

"So you really think nothing of it. By the time you wake up tomorrow, you could well have forgotten all about it."

Again, she indicated that she was following his logic. He leaned in close to her, and looked again into those spellbinding eyes.

"A muggle, on the other hand, would see two glasses appear out of nowhere, and a whiskey bottle pour itself. Once they knew that they weren't dreaming or imagining things, they would remember it as being nothing short of a miracle. They would remember it until the day they died. So many things we take for granted are what muggles could only dream about, and there is only one kind of magic that muggles share with us."

Ginny gazed back at him, hanging on every word, and feeling that same silly crush on him that she had known six years ago, and so many other things at once.

"What kind is that?" she asked, noticing how close his mouth was to hers.

"The kind that I felt in my stomach the first time I kissed you."

As they sank into each others' arms, Harry was very grateful for the Muffliato spell that ensured that they would not be overheard.


	21. The New Beginning

Chapter 21 – The New Beginning

A series of very surreal dreams was brought to a sudden end as Harry heard a soft, dreamy voice in his ear.

"Rise and shine."

More than a little disorientated, he gradually pulled his eyes open and brought them into focus. Ginny was kneeling on the bed in front of him, wearing what he recognised as one of his t-shirts and a sunny smile on her face. He decided that the best idea would be to stay absolutely still until his head fell into place.

"Hi," he began, letting the sight of her work its magic on the ache behind his eyes, "What…err…what happened?"

She beamed at him, then leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

"It was wonderful, Harry!" she said in a far-away voice, "Better than I ever imagined it. I'm just so glad that I'm now a woman…"

It only took a couple of seconds for this to have its desired effect, and Harry was now gaping at her in shock. This would be difficult.

"Ginny, I…I'm…" he stumbled awkwardly.

But Ginny was unable to conceal her glee any longer, and descended into a fit of giggles.

"Oh Harry!" she said, he whole body shaking with laughter, "Relax, nothing happened! Oh my…the look on your face! That was priceless!"

No matter how cruel this was, Harry was quick to see the funny side. He sat up in bed and gave her a warm hug. It was then that he heard a voice that made his blood freeze.

"Harry, are you up yet?" called Ron from across the room, "I thought I heard your voice."

"Oh, this is just _perfect_!" Harry whispered, "How did I forget that this might be a little difficult in the morning?"

"Don't worry, I'll deal with him," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek, "You just clear your head."

She pulled on her robes and discreetly lifted one of the bed curtains.

"Sorry if I woke you up, mate," continued Ron, "You must've been pretty tired yesterday. First sleeping on the train, then dozing off in front of the fire…Oh by the way, those new twins were hassling me about wanting to meet you, just thought I'd warn you now."

Ginny peeked around the corner of the bedpost to see her brother putting his socks on.

"It's funny," he went on, with a puzzled expression, "I could've sworn I heard someone else…GINNY!"

A few heads were turning to see what was going on, and Ginny could see that this situation needed diffusing quickly, but she couldn't help being annoyed at his reaction.

"Um, Ron, do you think you could possibly shout a bit louder?" she sighed, "I think there may be a centaur on the other side of the forest who didn't quite hear you."

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU…!"

"Don't even get that paranoid little mind of yours started on this, because there is nothing to tell, and even if there was, it would be no business of yours!" she snapped, "In fact, being that you're a prefect, the worst thing you could do is caution me for being in the boys' dormitory!"

Harry was pulling all the bed curtains open as Ron searched for a reply.

"Well…well, what _were_ you doing in here?" he demanded, attempting to maintain a position of authority.

"We were just talking, Ron!" she replied, wondering if her brother was ever going to grow up, "It does happen, you know. Harry's your best friend, and I thought that maybe you'd be pleased that we were together. Everyone's happy for you and Hermione!"

As all stares turned to Ron, Harry was wishing that he could inconspicuously sink through a hole in the floor. What followed was what Ginny could only describe as a turning point in her brother's life.

"You're right, I'm sorry," said Ron, unable to meet her eye, "I'm happy for the two of you, really I am."

He turned to Seamus, the Creavey brothers, and Neville, who had been observing with great interest.

"Alright, show's over, don't go spreading this about," he muttered.

"Thank you," said Ginny quietly.

After drinking as much water as he could possibly hold down, and procuring a simple headache remedy from Madam Pomfrey, Harry headed slowly along to Professor McGonagall's office. He was all on edge with anticipation, and was hoping that the firewhiskey had not continued to cloud his mind.

"Memor vinco" he said, and the Gargoyle statue moved aside to reveal the spiralling staircase.

He had barely raised his hand to knock, when he heard a familiar gruff voice from within the study.

"Come in, Potter."

He pushed the door open and walked in to find Professor McGonagall and Mad-Eye Moody sitting on either side of the desk. Moody had evidently seen Harry through the door with his magical eye.

"Ah, Harry," said McGonagall, rising to her feet, "You know Professor Moody, of course. He will be conducting your Advanced Defence lessons."

Mad-Eye approached Harry with a very sympathetic air.

"Can't have been an easy summer for you, Potter, not after what happened to Percy Weasley. What I'm here to do is to teach you what you'll need to know, and between the three of us, that includes quite a few things that neither the school governors nor the Ministry would be too happy about, so best keep this quiet."

Harry nodded and turned to the Headmistress.

"Who's my other new teacher, Professor?"

She coughed distractedly and addressed the question.

"He sent word to say that he had been delayed, but we should be expecting him any minute now."

And sure enough, after a few moments of silence, there came the sound of footsteps outside and a knock at the door. McGonagall hastened to answer it.

"Ah, greetings Professor!" she said, and beckoned him into the room.

All Harry could do was stare in utter shock and disbelief. He recognised immediately the man who had just arrived. He took a step backwards, dumbfounded, and felt almost faint. What he was struggling to understand was how this man was even at Hogwarts, never mind how he could possibly be his new teacher. He blinked a few times to make sure that he wasn't experiencing some kind of hallucination, but the scene remained the same. This had to be some kind of twisted joke, he decided. Looking a little uncomfortable, perhaps wondering indeed what Harry could be thinking of the situation, the Headmistress spoke again.

"Potter, allow me to introduce your new Occlumency teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. I believe you two have met before…"


	22. The Misunderstood Genius

Chapter 22 – The Misunderstood Genius

After more careful inspection, Professor Lockhart wasn't exactly as Harry had remembered him. There remained only a flicker of the smile that had once littered the pages of Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet and earned him a fair portion of his formerly glittering reputation. His style of dressing was far more sedate, and there was none of the startling boldness in his manner to be seen.

"Professor, could I speak to you alone for a moment?" Harry asked hopefully.

The concerns that hung in the air were evident to all those present.

"Err, certainly Potter," she replied, turning to Moody and Lockhart, "Would the two of you mind?"

Moody nodded and grunted in acceptance, before pivoting round on his wooden leg and wandering out of the door. Lockhart's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment. He smiled briefly and made a subtle bow, then slowly turned to leave.

"I'm sure she's a very lucky girl," he said as left the room.

Harry's eyes widened as the door closed. He was trying to make sense of this, but was failing miserably. As if caught in a trance, he didn't even notice McGonagall sit down behind her desk.

"Potter? Potter? Would you like to have a seat?"

"Wha…? Oh, sorry, yes," he said quickly.

Before he could speak, she spoke for him.

"I realise that there is an explanation due to you," she said calmly, "so allow me to outline the circumstances in which we now find ourselves."

She re-filled her tea cup and also conjured one in front of Harry, from which he gratefully drank.

"It was, I believe, around late Spring last year that healers at St Mungo's Hospital began to notice great improvements in Gilderoy Lockhart's mental condition. He had started to make random comments and general observations about his childhood. Hardly something for most people to celebrate, but to the healers, this was a very encouraging sign, especially given the strength of the memory charm that initially backfired on him."

Harry remembered this incident all too clearly. It was something for which Lockhart would most certainly have to make amends, even though things had worked out for the best. The man had attempted to addle the minds of him and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets, and if it weren't for the fact that Ron's broken wand caused the charm to backfire, then Ginny would have almost certainly died.

"With such able care to hand, there had been, shall we say 'method to the madness' for quite some time," she continued, "and his memory continued to stabilise from day to day, though the healing process was still slow as it usually is when the brain has sustained a magical injury."

He found this quite easy to believe. On their last encounter in the mental ward of St Mungo's, Lockhart had been puzzling over fan letters, having not the slightest clue as to why he had been famous. Recounting this, Harry was now itching to find out how the professor had been offered yet another job teaching at Hogwarts.

"Six months ago, he had recovered to an extent that allowed him to be granted temporary release from the hospital. A week before he was due to leave, a healer's apprentice, Alicia Felmont, was on the point of leaving Lockhart's bedside to fetch him some pumpkin juice. This was not normally part of routine, as it was only served with meals, but Miss Felmont had read the man's work, and had taken quite a shine to him. As she was about to leave, however, he asked her not to bother, as he wasn't feeling particularly thirsty. This, Harry, came as something of a shock to the girl, who hastily reported it to her head of department, for she never actually spoke a word aloud about bringing him a drink."

The meaning of this was now dawning on Harry, and the Headmistress could see a vague flicker of clarity appear in his eyes.

"It would indeed appear that he was practising Legilimency upon her and it was determined, given the progress that he had made, that he had been accomplished in that field before the accident. Why we never knew when he was originally employed to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts is something of a mystery."

"But he hardly taught us a thing!" Harry protested, "He never mentioned anything about this, and he wasn't exactly modest about his so-called 'talents'!"

McGonagall sighed as she recalled this disastrous appointment in Harry's second year.

"I believe that is something you should discuss with Professor Lockhart, Harry," she replied, "Speaking of which, he will be taking your first lesson until lunchtime. Go downstairs and let him know, and if you would be so good, send Professor Moody back in here."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him.

"No, that's my final word, Potter. Now go."

Harry grudgingly tramped out of the office and back down the spiral staircase. After bidding farewell to Moody, he followed Lockhart to a formerly disused classroom that now contained nothing but a table and two chairs in the middle of it.

"Please sit down, Harry" said Lockhart blankly.

There was no cheer, arrogance, or false bravado in his voice now. As Harry did as he was told, he preferred to think that this was the result of a brain transplant.

"I will answer any questions that you may have, for one can study neither Occlumency nor Legilimency if one stands in the shadow of doubt."

Harry sat there, wondering where to begin.

"Well, to start with, Professor, why did you become a Defence teacher when you knew next to nothing about it?" he asked, half expecting the professor's temper to flair up at the insult to his pride.

Instead, Lockhart calmly sat down and addressed the matter.

"I'm sure you remember the volume of fan letters I received on a daily basis back then. Having been missing from the public eye for a few years, there aren't quite so many now and I have been instructed not to answer any of them while I remain at Hogwarts. However, there was a time when many proud parents, having read my work, were writing to urge me to become a teacher so that I could pass my, err, 'knowledge' on to future generations of witches and wizards. Such letters were also sent to the school, and to maintain my celebrated status, I could hardly ignore those requests forever."

Though satisfied with this frank admission, Harry had only just begun.

"Professor, after watching you teach last time, you must understand that I'm having a difficult time believing that you were so good at Occlumency and Legilimency all along – "

"Well then let's start with a lesson in morals," he interrupted loudly, "Being a fraudster in our world is somewhat more difficult than it is for muggles, Harry. To commit the perfect crime, no one must realise what you are about to do, what you are doing, or what you have done. Now, I took credit for the deeds of many great wizards, all of whom were fiercely proud of their lifetime of achievements. Do you know what it took to be able to accomplish that, completely undetected?"

Harry stared at him blankly, but understood that maybe there was a little more to this man than met the eye.

"Allow me to enlighten you," he continued, "Each had to be interviewed in depth, and more than a few were a little reluctant and suspicious; not exactly the forthcoming types. So, I required Occlumency to conceal my true intentions from them, and Legilimency to see firsthand what their experiences were really like, especially when they tried fobbing me off with vague details. I wanted to capture the sights, the sensations, and the emotions of it all, because it was all part of what would make my written work so captivating. My talents lie in the intricacies of the mind, so I used them to my advantage."

Harry was shaking his head at this, for there seemed such an obvious solution to it all.

"But if that's so, then why didn't you just find somewhere to teach what you actually knew about?" he asked, staring at him like he had just been freshly committed, "Or better still, why didn't you write books about it to begin with?"

Professor Lockhart sighed. This boy was far too innocent and pure of intention, he decided.

"Because I wanted fortune and glory!" he cried, "I needed something that would sell! As intriguing as my specialist arts were, I knew they wouldn't earn me the recognition I craved. People wanted to read about someone who had stared the dark arts in the face and overcome every adversary in their path, they wanted a hero. All I did was give them one!"

Though Harry still had little respect for him as a wizard, there was part of him that felt both sympathy and a sneaking admiration for Lockhart. After all, dishonest and fraudulent as he may have been, Harry had never known a wizard like him.

"Now then, if I have succeeded in lifting that veil of mystery, may we begin?" he asked impatiently.

After a brief hesitation, Harry nodded. He supposed that all he needed to know now was if the man actually _did_ know how to teach him something.

"A little preparation will be required on your part, Mr Potter," the professor began, "I realise that emptying your mind is not quite as easy as it sounds, so we shall take this one step at a time. First, you are to recognise that there is nothing out of the ordinary about learning this subject. This is nothing but a normal school day for you, and any anxieties you have are simply ridiculous notions to be discarded."

Harry looked questioningly at him.

"But – "

"Harry, this first step is essential!" he cut in, wishing to hammer the point home, "You cannot hope to conceal truth and emotion without first accepting the circumstances in which you find yourself! You must be utterly convinced that there is nothing strange about this subject, or the fact that you are the only student learning it. Imagine that your friends are in here with you, like any normal lesson. Concentrate!"

Closing his eyes and concentrating as hard as he could, Harry tried to imagine himself in his old History of Magic lessons, as he felt only this could summon the very picture of monotony.

"Very good, Potter," murmured Lockhart, who had already begun delving into Harry's thoughts, "Next, you must allow your mind to trivialise past, present and future. Pick a memory. It can be any memory, so long as it is clear."

His mind couldn't help drifting to his chaotic lessons that Lockhart had conducted in his second year. The professor cleared his throat awkwardly as he saw the memory emerging. Every detail became clearer with each passing moment.

"Now, I want you to concentrate hard," he continued, "and draw a blank screen over every aspect of the memory. Every face must become a blur, every sound must be silenced, and every sensation must become numb. Draw a blank screen over it all, until the blankness is all that you see."

Harry knew that Lockhart would probably be very glad for this to happen in more ways than one. He persevered until a thick white haze descended over his mind, though keeping it in place proved to be quite a struggle.

"This isn't something you can just learn overnight, Harry, but so far you are doing very well," said the professor encouragingly, "What you must do now is be able to change the memory. Summon it to its former clarity once again, and convince me that something completely different happened. Convince _yourself_."

Concentrating with all his might, Harry tried to picture Lockhart's class being asked to teach the school owls to talk. He focused in on certain details, such as Hermione's owl naturally being the first to complete a coherent sentence, and Ron complaining how pointless the exercise was. Twisting the image was like re-sculpting a piece of clay, and Harry was surprised at just how easily he could achieve it.

"Excellent, Harry," Lockhart beamed, "You know, you're taking to this a lot quicker than I thought you would, but unfortunately, we are only just scratching the surface. When concealing thoughts from others, it is so often our emotions that give us away, so what I need from you now is a far more emotional memory. Whether it is happy, sad, frightening, exciting, I leave that to you."

This made it more difficult for Harry to focus, as there was now a multitude of memories from which to choose. He finally settled upon the thought of Ginny, the happiest thought he could imagine, but now he had to make a transition from the inept teachings of Professor Lockhart to the love of his life. Suddenly, like a fly caught in a spider's web, fighting against the inevitable, he found himself back in the Chamber of Secrets. Lockhart stood in his way, thinking only of his own reputation, while Ginny lay in grave danger at the heart of the chamber. Harry had managed to save her, but he still couldn't help thinking what would have happened if Ron's wand hadn't been broken. There now descended a red haze of anger and pain, and he could feel his hands balling into fists.

"Harry, calm down!" growled Lockhart.

She…she…

"SHE COULD'VE DIED!!" screamed Harry, opening his eyes and reaching for his wand.

He could now see Lockhart's wand pointed at him, and froze in his chair.

"I say again, Harry, calm down!" he repeated, "The fact remains that she did _not_ die!"

Composing himself, Harry now looked incredulously at the wand pointed at him.

"What were you going to do anyway?" he enquired, "Remove all the bones from my arm again? Or perhaps you'd like to raise the stakes and remove my skull instead?"

Lockhart fixed him with a very serious look.

"Whether you like it or not, Harry, it is my job to teach you Occlumency, something I guarantee you will need when you go to meet your enemy. Now, I know that you have been thinking about how much you care for this girl since the moment you walked in this room, so if it helps, just think that you are doing this for _her_, as well as countless others. You saved her life before, but if you are unwilling to calm down and accept the lessons you are being taught in order to succeed, then you may as well have left her down there to rot."

Harry could do nothing but concede that the man was talking complete sense. And so, under the watchful mind's eye of his teacher, he continued to learn control over his thoughts.


	23. A Lesson in Violence

Chapter 23 – A Lesson in Violence

Having spent nearly two hours emptying his mind, Harry was now seized with a strong compulsion to fill his stomach. He made his way to the great hall, where the Gryffindors had already assembled, and were tucking into their lunch.

"Where have _you_ been?" asked Hermione, "Ginny said something about you having different lessons, but what happened?"

"Just been catching up with an old friend," he said, nodding towards the staff table.

Ron began to choke on a spicy meatball as he saw Professor Lockhart sitting down with the rest of the Hogwarts staff. Hermione clapped him on the back and succeeded in dislodging it.

"What the bloody hell's _he_ doing here?" gasped Ron.

Harry looked around suspiciously and cast the Muffliato charm once again, so that only Hermione, Ginny and Ron could hear him.

"He made a recovery in St Mungo's, and if you can believe it, he's become my Occlumency teacher."

All three of them now stared at him in shock.

"I wouldn't even trust him to put a fire out!" Ron exclaimed, "And you're telling me that he's been hired as a _teacher_ again?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but it turns out that there's something he actually knows how to teach," said Harry, "and to tell you the truth, he's pretty good at it."

Ginny was absent-mindedly coiled around Harry's arm, thinking that she had not seen him in far too long, but also shooting the occasional dark look at Lockhart. There was something that worried her about his presence, and it was not simply the fact that he had once put her life in jeopardy. The others were still looking a little baffled as Harry lifted the charm and piled spaghetti on to his plate.

"Anyway," said Harry, finishing a large mouthful, "how was everyone else's morning?"

"Potions, with Slughorn," groaned Ron, "I know he's decent teacher and all, but I think it's time to accept that I'll _never_ be good at it."

"Oh, Ron," soothed Hermione, "Potions is just like any other subject, you just have to work at it and you'll improve."

"Oh, is that so?" he scoffed in reply, "Well, you'll have to forgive me for being a bit discouraged when the fumes from my cauldron caused Slughorn to clear the room, and that was just supposed to be a simple draught for muscular pain! No, after six years, I should be facing facts."

As the lunch hour came to an end, Harry wandered along to the classroom that he had so often entered for Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting behind the desk at the front of the room, deep in thought. Harry coughed as he walked in through the door.

"Ah, Potter," he murmured, "Do have a seat."

The student desks had been removed, and instead there was a small armchair standing on its own near Moody. Harry felt the ever-curious gaze of the magical eye as he sat down.

"Now, I want you to listen very carefully," said Moody in a low growl, "Be warned, because I'm not about to mince my words, or sugar-coat this in any way. I'm about to give you a lesson in violence. You're not just here for Auror training or magical defence. You're here to learn how to fight back, and kill when necessary."

There were already questions buzzing around inside Harry's head, but he decided it would be best not to interrupt just yet.

"Your five senses, as well as your gut instinct, are ten times more important now than they've ever been," he continued, "and let me assure you that if Dumbledore hadn't been so convinced that you were the only one who could do what has to be done, I would never dream of teaching you _any_ of this. If an Auror were to use this knowledge in the line of duty, they'd be stripped of their position, and in many cases, carted off to Azkaban, so I would be grateful if you treat it with caution and responsibility."

Harry nodded, the questioning look still lingering in his eyes.

"Now," said Moody, recognising the look all too well, "is there anything you'd like to ask before we proceed?"

"Err, Professor…I was wondering…w..would this be including the Unforgivable Curses?"

This was a question that felt like it had been trying to bore its way out of his head any way it could. To his surprise, Professor Moody was smiling at him.

"I won't be teaching you how to _use_ them, if that's what you mean. You know by now that most dark wizards think nothing of using them, but they have their weapons and we have ours. One thing that you must understand is that Unforgivable Curses are what they know, what they will _expect_ you to use. The idea is to attack them with what they _don't_ know, and believe me, there are more ways than one to cause pain and death."

Harry was finding the prospect of these lessons disturbingly thrilling now. He was beginning to think that there was a sadistic side to his personality that had not yet been unearthed.

"Well then," continued Professor Moody, "before we begin in earnest, I'll need to know how your non-verbal spell work is coming along. I know you've only just begun to learn Occlumency, well _properly_ at least, so we won't dig into that aspect of defence just yet."

"I'll need a lot more work on non-verbal spells," admitted Harry glumly, "There are a lot of things I can manage like that, but not duelling."

"Perfectly understandable," said Moody, nodding all the while, "The mind is under so much more pressure when in combat. Your reflexes must be sharpened, and the mind has just as important a part to play as the body. No time like the present, so come on, on your feet."

He rose from behind the desk and limped into the middle of the room. Harry stood nervously and faced him.

"You can use verbal defence if you wish, but do try to let your mind take the lion's share of the work. I'm just going to send a few mild jinxes your way to see how you deal with them."

"Protego!"

Harry drew his wand just in time to fend off a disarming spell.

"Good," the professor muttered, "I didn't give you much time to prepare yourself, and you knew I wouldn't. What you must remember is that a Death Eater won't even extend you _that_ courtesy. Once again, and this time, see how close to non-verbal you can get."

Taking a deep breath, Harry once again anticipated the movement of his teacher's wand and attempted to silently repel the attack, but it was as he felt his wand flying out of his hand, and staggered a few paces backwards, that he decided a little more practice over the summer would have been advisable. As he went to retrieve his wand, a series of thick ropes were rapidly conjured around him and he fell to the floor. Mad-Eye stood over him with a grin on his face.

"Disarmed, helpless, and ready to die," he said, and severed the ropes with another flick of his wand, "Again!"

Harry picked up his wand and held the protective spell steadily in his mind. The next jinx, designed to not only disarm him but also pin him to the wall, sent him tumbling backwards a little, almost off his feet, but he managed to keep a grip on his wand.

"Better!" Moody growled, "Again! This time silent _and_ still!"

Planting his feet firmly on the floor, Harry allowed the charm to consume his thoughts, and Moody's next attack met a solid wall of protection.

"Good!" came the verdict, "But your weakness is that you are only prepared to defend. You could stand there blocking curses until you're old and grey, but if you want them to be fighting for _their_ lives, you must strike back; you must make them fear you. Fear causes panic, and panic causes mistakes. Focus, Harry. Defend, then attack."

A moment later, Professor Moody repeated the jinx, and Harry did exactly as he was told.

"Stupify!" he cried, but Moody had effortlessly blocked him.

"Right idea, Potter, but again, it needs to come from your mind," he said, "And don't be discouraged that your attack had no effect, it's just the principles I'm teaching you to begin with; the foundations upon which you must build."

By the end of the lesson, Harry had made significant improvement in his defensive skills, and had even managed to use a few silent jinxes. True, he had been thrown off his feet a number of times as his spells had been countered, but he was feeling very hopeful about his progress.

"There will be no essays or reading for you to complete before I see you next," said Professor Moody as they left the classroom, "All I ask is that you work on what we've been practising whenever possible, and keep training your mind. Apply these rules in whatever magic you perform until it becomes second nature, Harry; I cannot stress enough how important it is that you are prepared for battle on pure instinct."

Feeling that he had caught a touch of Mad-Eye Moody's infamous paranoia, Harry found himself reacting to the slightest sound of footsteps or creak of floorboards for the rest of the day. This even led to an incident during the evening meal, when he suddenly drew his wand on a roast chicken and transfigured it back to its original living form. There was a flurry of laughter, dismay and panic as the startled chicken scuttled along the Gryffindor table, before being returned to the serving platter by an irate Headmistress.

Ginny was waiting in the common room with Ron for over an hour when Harry finally walked in through the portrait hole.

"Where did you disappear off to?" asked Ron.

"I just needed a bit of time to think, that's all," he replied, putting an arm around Ginny and giving a small yawn.

This wasn't something that Ron was just going to accept. He had known Harry long enough to know that there was always something behind his lone errands.

"Thinking about anything in particular?" he ventured innocently.

"Not really," he shrugged, "Just practicing for Occlumency, that's all."

Ron eyed him suspiciously.

"Oh well, if you insist on being secretive about it, I'll leave you to it" he said, before turning on his heel and marching upstairs to the dormitory.

As Ginny curled up beside him in front of the fire, Harry began to reflect on the evening's activities. It was true to say that he _had_ been doing a great deal of thinking, but if anything, it could've done his Occlumency studies more harm than good. For the first time in nearly six years, he had been staring into the Mirror of Erised.


	24. Voice From Beyond

Chapter 24 – Voice From Beyond

Summer had died a very sudden death. It was only September, but the skies above Hogwarts weren't usually as grey as they had now become until late autumn or winter. Hagrid was standing outside his cabin, waiting for the small group of fourth years whom he would be teaching Care of Magical Creatures, and rubbing his hands together for warmth. He would also be expecting a visit from Harry later on in the day and could imagine having to apologise for asking so many questions. Every smile had required far more effort since the passing of the old Headmaster, and he was always keen to hear any news that would show it had not been in vain.

He jumped as he suddenly heard a voice at his side.

"Hagrid?"

Seeing nobody about him, he smiled and replied as he looked back towards the castle.

"I do wish yeh'd pay some attention to the rules at some point, Harry. They're only looking out for you, y'know."

"I know, but there's something I really wanted to ask you," came the voice.

"Well, ain't that a coincidence," muttered Hagrid, "Cos I've got a few questions of my own. If you won't be missed for a while then yer welcome to wait inside, bein' that I've still got a class to teach. Oh, and you can take that cloak off an' all."

Harry emerged from his invisibility cloak and, with a grateful smile at his friend, entered the hut.

Tonks was escorting the class across the grounds and looking somewhat perturbed about her duties. She was very tired after having spent most of the night at St Mungo's Hospital, watching over the ailing Mr Ollivander, whose condition was still bordering on critical. Harry felt truly sorry for her as he watched her lead the class towards the forest through Hagrid's window. Really, it was bad enough having to cope with the danger of being an Auror in these times, without having to baby-sit young witches and wizards at the same time.

He sat down and watched Fang, Hagrid's dog, sleeping near the fire. Fang seemed to have recovered fairly well from his injuries sustained in the cabin fire at the end of the previous school year, but even while sleeping, he appeared to be shaken from the experience, as well as having a few patches of missing hair. Harry had always liked Hagrid's cabin, even though he couldn't see himself living in a place like it. He had many precious memories within these walls, and would always remember Hagrid as the first person that he had ever called a friend.

Nearly an hour later, the door opened and the groundskeeper himself walked in. He shivered a little, took off his large overcoat, and hung it up on the wall.

"Well I thought yeh could've at least put the kettle on!" he laughed.

Harry smiled, drew his wand and within seconds, the heavy copper kettle was full of water that steadily boiled over the fire.

"How did the lesson go?" he enquired.

Hagrid cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I err, suppose it could've gone better," he murmured, before adding quickly, "But I DID try and tell 'em what them Bowtruckles were like. Reckon I got another Malfoy in the making among that lot!"

Harry understood what he meant right away. During a lesson with Hagrid in his third year, Draco Malfoy had been attacked by Buckbeak the Hippogriff, after failing to listen to instructions about how the creature should be treated. This brought dark thoughts back to him as he idly wondered what had become of Malfoy. Something very unpleasant, he hoped.

"Now then," said Hagrid, sitting himself down on the other side of the table, "Like I said, there's things I got ter know from you. I've been running errands fer The Order during the summer, and all's I know is that somethin's been keepin' 'em very busy. I've heard rumours, good and bad, but that's all."

Harry was wondering where to begin.

"Percy Weasley was murdered," he said quietly, deciding that there was no point in withholding the information, "Tonks and I found him in the Weasleys' garden."

Hagrid took a very deep breath and bowed his head reverently.

"So it _is_ true," he said mournfully, "I was hopin' they was…never mind."

"Olivander's – " Harry began.

"Oh, I know all about him," cut in the groundskeeper, "There were that much talk flying around the staff that I'd have to be stone deaf not to know every last detail. Poor man, I'm just countin' on 'em settin' 'im right."

It was hard to tell what kind of information Hagrid was really after.

"Erm, I'm only learning four subjects at the moment, and I don't even think it's for the N.E.W.T's."

Hagrid looked at him curiously. This was something he had been meaning to ask about, as he had so far only heard vague whisperings.

"Don't happen to know what that bloody fool Lockhart's doing here, do you?" he enquired, "I thought maybe Professor Flitwick 'ad brought 'im in as a demonstration of how wands can be dangerous in the wrong hands."

"He's one of my new teachers," replied Harry simply.

"What?" said Hagrid, wondering if a beetle had become lodged in his ear, "Did I just hear you right?"

"I'm afraid so," Harry smiled, "Professor McGonagall's telling me to learn all sorts of things that aren't normally part of a Hogwarts education."

"Well, you're no ordinary wizard Harry," said Hagrid warily, "Reckon there's not a dark wizard alive who wouldn't give their right eye to bring you hangin' by yer ankles ter…You-Know-Who."

This was not exactly the kind of encouragement that Harry needed at this point, and he thought that Hagrid, of all people, would know it. He honestly hated that fact that he was thought of as so different from the rest, and there had been so many times in his life when his dearest wish to just blend into a crowd; become part of the scenery. This was now an impossible notion, and he would just have to live with it. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his voice and told Hagrid what had to be told.

"I'm going after him."

A reply came somewhat sooner than he had expected.

"Well of course you are, Harry."

Harry couldn't help but look up suddenly in alarm at this. There wasn't the slightest trace of sarcasm or scepticism in his voice. Had he heard him correctly?

"You needn't look so surprised," Hagrid continued, "Much as I feared that it would happen one day, I knew that it would. If Albus Dumbledore hadn't thought so too, don't you think he would've taken it upon himself? After all, you did more harm to…You-Know-Who when you were only one year old, than anyone has ever done. He might be thinking he can do what he wants now that Dumbledore's gone, but I believe he knows deep down that yer not afraid of him."

This was greeted with silence. Harry didn't think this was quite the right time to admit that he was terrified.

"Listen Harry," said Hagrid, sensing a certain reluctance, and leaning in closer towards him, "You've come face to face with him more times than any wizard who's lived to tell the tale, and I think he must've come to terms with the fact that you were more than just lucky. It was _meant_ to be you, Harry, I'm sure of it."

Again, the boy was a little hesitant to express whole-hearted agreement. He thought perhaps he had better take the helm and steer the conversation into other waters.

"Hagrid, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, taking a slight pause and wondering what kind of a response he would receive to such a question, "Where are my parents?"

"Erm, well, Godric's Hollow," said Hagrid, hoping he had understood what was being asked, "That's where they were buried."

"Yes, I know that, but where? Where could I actually find their graves?"

Hagrid sighed. He hadn't thought about this since the secret was entrusted to him sixteen years ago, but he now remembered it as if it were yesterday.

"I hope you're not planning on going out there on yer own!" he said cautiously.

Harry could feel his rebellious streak rising to the surface, and for a brief moment, he felt genuinely proud of himself.

"What good am I going to be to _anybody_ if I can't even manage to visit my parents' resting place? I'll be careful Hagrid, I promise."

He regarded Harry with the kind of expression that befitted a bird who was watching their children leaving the nest for the first time. He had to face up to the fact that Harry was now grown up, and would now have to face some of the worst terrors that their world had in store.

"Alright then," he said, "but mind you are! Now, when you approach Godric's Hollow from the east, there's a road that runs through to the other side of the village. It's signposted pretty well once you're a few miles off, so you shouldn't have any trouble findin' it. Just as you get to the first houses along the road, you'll see a large uphill field to yer right, with some woods at the top o' them. The muggles have 'ad all of it protected by law, so's no one can build on it, or cut down the trees or nothin'. A little way along, you should find a small alcove of fir trees, and as soon as you walk into it, you'll see two headstones appear in front of you, and that be where the great Lily and James Potter are now resting. Anyone else would need a powerful spell of revealing to make 'em appear…well, _nearly_ anyone."

He stood up and attended to pouring the tea, into typically huge cups for which Harry had never had the need.

"There's only two other people, as far as I know, who could do it without usin' magic, and they would be yer Aunt Petunia and yer cousin Dudley," he said, and, seeing Harry's confusion, added, "Blood relatives, y'see?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he imagined that his Aunt and cousin would be about the last people who would wish to visit his parents' graves.

"So, now you know," he continued, sipping at his tea, "and that would make you only the second livin' soul that _does_ know. But to be honest, Harry, I woulda thought you'd 'ave asked Dumbledore, 'stead o' comin' to me."

The boy looked bewildered, completely unsure of what Hagrid was driving at.

"Do you mean to tell me that you haven't already spoken to 'im?" he growled in surprise, "He might not be able to just fix everything with a flick of his wand anymore, but he's still got the same rights as every Headmaster and Headmistress that's been before 'im!"

The implications of this suddenly dawned on Harry, and his whole face seemed to widen in realisation. How could he have been so stupid?

"His portrait!" he cried, leaping up from his chair, "In McGonagall's study, he's there!"

He grabbed his invisibility cloak and wrapped it around him.

"I'm sorry Hagrid," said his floating head, "but I really must talk to him as soon as I can."

"I understand," Hagrid nodded, "Just so long as you let me know how things are goin'. I'll see you later."

Harry covered his head and rushed out of the door. He had no lessons planned for another hour, so he wouldn't be missed. Now all he had to hope was that none of the other Gryffindor seventh years currently had a free period in which to query his whereabouts. Checking that he would not be spotted by any of the regular patrols, he removed the cloak as entered the castle and hurried along the corridor. As he approached the gargoyle, he sighed with relief as he saw Professor McGonagall walking towards him.

"Potter, what's wrong?" she said, with a definite note of concern.

"Please Professor, I _need_ to see Dumbledore," he gasped, "I just need to talk to him."

The Headmistress looked at him with both sympathy and confusion.

"Listen, Harry, I can see how it would be of comfort to you to see him again; it would be comfort to _all_ of us, but you must understand that all that remains of Albus Dumbledore is the soul residing within his portrait, like a ghost, but nothing more."

Harry couldn't understand how she could assume he thought otherwise.

"I know, but there is so much he can still tell me, I'm _sure_ of it."

She sighed, but smiled warmly at him.

"Very well. I shall leave you to it and take a little walk."

Harry smiled his gratitude and uttered the password. He could feel the hairs standing on the back of his neck as he ascended the staircase to the study. His mentor was dead, but it had always been his opinion that even death could not stop such a great wizard. He opened the door and walked slowly and apprehensively towards the place where the cage of Fawks, Dumbledore's phoenix, had once stood. Looking up to the nearest open space of wall, his heart skipped a beat. There, in a frame of burnished gold, hung the portrait of Professor Dumbledore, sleeping soundly, like all the other faces with whom he shared the room. Harry pulled up a chair opposite it and coughed discreetly.

"Err, Professor?"

The portrait stirred a little, and Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes. It wasn't quite the same as Harry had known before, but he still saw the same look of comforting wisdom in the old Headmaster's face.

"I must say that it is the greatest of comforts to see you now," said the professor with a broad grin, "I say this partly because one enjoys so few comforts in death, but it is also a delight to see that you have lived through the summer."

To hear this voice again gave Harry a strength that he honestly couldn't describe, but at the same time, a sorrow that he couldn't understand.

"I see also that you have been lately searching your heart," he continued, "Tell me, what exactly did you see in the mirror _this_ time?"

This was a question to which the answer was not a simple one. The Mirror of Erised had shown such a clear image the first time Harry had looked into it at the age of eleven. It showed him that his deepest desire was for his parents to be alive again, but as he had walked away from it a few days previously, he had been mystified.

"The reflection kept changing, as if I couldn't make up my mind or something," he replied, "I saw myself with my parents again, only this time, Ginny Weasley was there too. Then suddenly it changed, and I saw myself walking into a room where all these wands were pointing at me. There were things I couldn't really make out, but no matter how foggy the reflection was, or how many times it changed, there always seemed to be this pair of red eyes looking at me from the mirror."

He thought for a moment, then realised the question he should have asked first.

"Hold on…How did you know I'd been looking in the mirror?"

Dumbledore smiled again.

"Forgive me for wanting to observe, Harry, but there just happened to be a vacant frame in the room at the time," he said, leaving a suitable interlude before speaking again, "I was curious enough that you were even looking _for_ the mirror. The reflection you saw must simply be a sign that your heart has become more restless, and you are far more uncertain of what the future will bring. Strange, however, because normally it is only the mind that can be uncertain. Perhaps you are torn between being with those you love and your desire to meet danger head-on, as it were."

Although he had been anxious to realise the meaning of the mirror's reflection, Harry couldn't pretend that this wasn't the least of his worries. After all, it was Dumbledore who had essentially set him on his life's path, and if anyone could help him now, it was this voice from beyond the grave.

"What is…death like, Professor?" he said in hushed tones.

The old man pondered this and peered at Harry over the top of his glasses, as he had often done when he was alive.

"A good deal more peaceful than life, I suppose," he said with a small chuckle, "but I wouldn't burden yourself with such thoughts if I were you, and surely it's not what you really came here to ask?"

This was true enough, but it was the only thing that had so far managed to separate itself from the maelstrom of questions that swarmed in his mind like a cloud of mosquitoes. The Occlumency lessons hadn't made it much easier to order his thoughts properly, and so he took a blind stab in the dark.

"Is there anything more you could've told me about the Horcruxes?" he offered nervously.

Dumbledore was glad to see that Harry's courage hadn't faltered, but he lamented the answer he would have to give.

"I only wish there was, Harry. I'm sure you remember the objects of which I told you, but there is so little that I can say for sure. The only course of action I can suggest, once you manage to retrieve one or more of the Horcruxes, is to bring it directly to Professor Moody, who, from what I hear, is currently teaching you his own brand of magical defence. I must say, it's good to see that you have been left in such capable hands, despite his rather abrasive approach to the Dark Arts."

"And he'll tell me how to destroy them?" replied Harry.

"They are objects that will almost certainly be bound in powerful dark magic, and Professor Moody is something of an expert in that particular field."

Harry nodded, thinking for a moment that this would make the task ahead far simpler, then remembered just how impossible it had seemed to him before.

"Has Professor McGonagall told you what's been going on since…well, since that night?" Harry enquired.

"Yes indeed she has, and from the looks of it, she is doing a fine job of running the school. An incredibly gifted witch, of that there is no question."

Before Harry could voice his following concerns, the old man continued.

"I am told that one of the Order's most faithful servant's has successfully begun his work in earnest. I was rather glad he managed to escape, but you must appreciate that for the moment, that must remain a secret between you and I."

"I don't understand," said Harry, shaking his head.

"I know you and Professor Snape rarely saw eye to eye," said Dumbledore, "and I know that there had always been distrust, even hatred between the two of you. However, like it is so often in our world, people are not always what they seem."

Harry was dumbstruck. He wondered if trauma inflicted at the time of death had somehow slowed Dumbledore's mind. His mentor allowed him whatever time he needed to regain the power of coherent speech.

"Snape?! You still trust him after…he…?!" he blurted out, "I SAW HIM KILL YOU!! AND YOU STILL WONDER WHY I DIDN'T TRUST HIM?! KILLING VOLDEMORT'S MOST POWERFUL ENEMY, HOW MUCH MORE PROOF DO YOU NEED? HOW MUCH MORE TREACHEROUS CAN ANYONE BE?!!!"

Dumbledore likeness didn't flinch at Harry's anger. He could see that calm and careful explanation was required, and also well-deserved.

"Harry, now that I'm dead, nothing can now be lost by laying before you this information, but I beg of you to pay close attention to your study of Occlumency, should need to conceal it from unfriendly minds."

Harry had risen from his chair, but was now sitting slowly back down, retaining an expression of ballistic rage on his face.

"I would ask that you listen _very_ carefully, to the bitter end," the professor annunciated in a far more serious voice, "for make no mistake that there are things you will need to know about Severus Snape, things you must understand before the matter goes as far as the two of you crossing wands again."

When he could be sure that Harry was willing to remain silent, he continued.

"We shall begin, oddly enough, with the last, most unfortunate encounter I had with him, the night that Voldemort's followers were able to infiltrate Hogwarts, owing to the quite brilliant scheming of Draco Malfoy. What you saw that night, Harry, was _not_ what it seemed."

Harry fought to keep his tongue locked behind clenched teeth as he listened.

"As hard as it may well be for you to accept, Snape was merely following my orders when he drew his wand on me. I don't believe anyone else in the Order of the Phoenix would have been able to carry out the task of killing me, and it was no easy task for him either – "

"It seemed pretty easy for him from what I could see!" burst out Harry, unable to contain himself any longer.

"Harry, you will remain _silent_!" cried Dumbledore.

The boy was no longer looking at him now. He was furious at him for having faith in Snape, furious at him for holding back information for so long, and furious at him for still speaking well of the former potions master in the afterlife. But most of all, he was furious at him for dying.

"Professor Snape had solid motives for doing what he did. There were Death Eaters all around him, any of whom would have stepped forward and done it, but that is a fairly minor point, given that he could easily have overpowered them at any time. I believe you are aware of the nature of an Unbreakable Vow, Harry?"

Harry nodded without looking up.

"Severus Snape has, to my knowledge, made two Unbreakable Vows in his life. One was to Draco Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, pledging that he would do everything in his power to protect young Draco in his quest to kill me, and if necessary, perform the deed himself. This was a job appointed to Malfoy by Lord Voldemort, and I'm sure you'll have guessed from the boy's words of desperation what failure would've meant for him and his family."

Again, Harry nodded as he remembered Draco's fearful voice.

"Both Professor Snape and I had become aware of Malfoy's recruitment into the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers, as well as the orders he was subsequently given, and so he was able to act on the information accordingly when confronted by Malfoy's mother and Aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. You must appreciate that neither of us wished to see a young, innocent wizard become a murderer, no matter what company he had chosen to keep. So, acting upon my orders, Snape took his place as the supposed Death Eater who would kill me. And it is this, Harry, which leads me to the point of the _first_ Unbreakable Vow that Severus made."

Harry was looking less distracted now, and looked back at the portrait.

"It was made sixteen years ago, almost to the day, in this very room, and under the supervision of Frank Longbottom. After he had seen the terrible error of his ways as a Death Eater and defected to our side, he vowed to me that he would lay down his life to serve the Order of the Phoenix and follow any command of mine without question. After a long and bitter internal conflict following Draco's appearance as a servant of Voldemort, he accepted that this vow would quite possibly involve the murder of the one he served without a moment's hesitation. So you see, I had no idle motives for trusting Professor Snape implicitly. It was both his conscience _and_ the shadow that hung over his very life that ensured his service to the Order."

The expression on Harry's face had fallen to one of helpless bewilderment. He quite simply had no idea what to think or feel. His life had been turned inside out so many times; he feared that he would never have a firm grasp on reality. The voice from the portrait continued.

"Taking my life also served the purpose of ensuring that, once he returned to Voldemort and was working for our benefit, his loyalty to the Dark Lord would never be called into question. So it is with absolute certainty that I can say that Severus Snape, at this very moment, is either spying for the Order or dead."

This was a lot for Harry to take in. Never before had he asked to be excused from this room while there were still questions to be asked, but this time he had to.

"Be sure to speak with me again before long!" called Dumbledore from his frame, as Harry hurried out of the door and down the stairs.

He felt giddy, and had to balance himself against the gargoyle. It was just impossible for him to be thinking so many things at once. The hallway was beginning to spin around him as he attempted to walk away, and his heartbeat had sped to a pace that was dizzying him even further. The stress on his mind made him feel as though his brain was trying to punch its way out through the top of his skull, and he broke into a heavy sweat.

"Help!" he cried weakly, before he keeled over and blacked out.


	25. Speak With Forked Tongue

Chapter 25 – Speak With Forked Tongue

As far as Harry could tell, he could have been unconscious for a week when he finally opened his eyes. Ron and Hermione were the first faces he saw, closely followed by Ginny, who had been sitting at his bedside in the hospital wing holding his hand.

"Nice of you to join us," grinned Hermione, "How are you feeling?"

Harry blinked twice and brought the world into proper focus.

"Never been better" he groaned, "What happened?"

"Lockhart found you near McGonagall's office and brought you here," said Ron, "He said you'd fainted, and something about discussing it in your next lesson."

Harry groaned again. He would have preferred it if anyone else had found him, but he got the distinct impression that Lockhart wasn't very well versed in the differences between the practical use of Legilimency and a blatant invasion of privacy, and by now probably knew all that had been told by Dumbledore's portrait.

Ginny was giving him a look that could only say "Admit it; you really DO need looking after." If anyone else had looked at him that way, he would have treated it with cold resentment, but there was wisdom in her eyes that he couldn't just ignore. As the two of them exchanged glances, Hermione nudged Ron pointedly.

"Err, yeah," Ron mumbled, "Well, Madam Pomfrey said you'd be fine, so we'll leave you to get some rest for now. Be back later mate."

"Take care, Harry," smiled Hermione, and with that, they excused themselves from the wing.

The moment the door had closed behind them, Ginny leaned forward and kissed him. Hovering beside his ear, she spoke in a hushed and soothing voice.

"Now you can tell me what happened"

Though he wasn't altogether sure what happened himself, Harry wasn't about to keep _anything_ from her if he could help it.

"I was in Professor McGonagall's study, talking to Dumbledore…well, his portrait anyway…and I just couldn't take in what he was telling me. I just felt so dizzy and confused, like I'd just been hit over the head with something. I remember getting downstairs, but I couldn't walk. Something happened to me…something strange. My brain just shut down, and then there was just blackness, nothing else."

Ginny stroked his hair softly and looked into his eyes with deep curiosity.

"What was it that Dumbledore told you?"

All of a sudden, Harry felt as though now was a time to be on his guard. He wanted to tell her; there was no reason why he shouldn't, but something inside was stopping him. Something didn't feel right.

"He told…he told me…" he began.

Ginny continued to stare at him enquiringly.

"Listen…could you fetch Professor Lockhart?" he decided, "I will tell you, it's just my head feels all strange again."

Slowly and reluctantly, Ginny left the room and returned a few minutes later with a slightly puzzled Gilderoy Lockhart. Just as he had been in Harry's second year at Hogwarts, Lockhart also looked somewhat apprehensive about being summoned on a matter of urgency.

"What seems to be the trouble, Potter," he asked, "I've been told you're not feeling too clever."

Harry looked nervously at him, his eyes occasionally wandering towards the girl at his side. There followed a gulf of silence, during which, only Ginny looked as though nothing was amiss, and Harry was signalling frantically with his eyes to the bemused professor. As Lockhart finally resorted to searching beyond the boy's eyes, he quickly turned his silent attention to Ginny, who was now looking more nervous than either of them. She slowly backed away, looking from one to the other.

"Harry?" she trembled, "Harry, what's g…?"

Lockhart had swiftly drawn his wand and performed a sleeping charm on her as the words were barely out of her mouth. He caught her before she hit the floor, hoisted her on to the neighbouring bed, then turned back to Harry, who was partly shocked, and partly ready to attack his Occlumency teacher.

"What did you…?"

"Harry, listen to me very carefully," Lockhart interrupted, motioning for him to stay put, "She'll be perfectly alright, but there are things I need to know from you before she wakes up. Firstly, has she been acting strangely at all before today?"

"Well…yes," Harry replied, realising that there would be little point in lying, "but today…just now…she was different. Like she seemed to be herself, but something told me that she wasn't."

"And what have you told her while she was like this? Has she questioned you at all? About anything?"

Lockhart appeared to be panicking more and more with each word that passed his lips.

"All I told her was how I felt when I left the Headmistress's study, and how I blacked out," said Harry, shaking his head in confusion, "Why, what's happened to her?"

Returning to the sleeping Ginny, Lockhart examined her eyes by the light of his wand, and attempted to provide Harry with an answer.

"Someone or _something_ has a hold on her mind, and there's nothing amateur about it."

"Do you mean the Imperius Curse?" asked Harry in alarm.

"No, far more subtle," replied the professor, "and, if anything, more complex than the Imperius Curse. It has no control over her actions, but her mind has been laid open like a book, more so than it should be. In this instance, she is being used to gain information. What did she ask you?"

"She wanted to know what the portrait of Dumbledore had told me. I was going to tell her, but I couldn't help thinking that there was something wrong."

Lockhart returned to him thoughtfully.

"And indeed there was, Harry," he murmured, "Anything you disclosed to her would have been known by a third party, and this kind of magic can often seep into the brain unnoticed."

He put away his wand and lowered his voice to Harry, who was now massaging his temples anxiously.

"There is no easy way to put this, but your trust of Ginny Weasley is about to be put to the test. It's clear that your involvement with her is known outside these walls, and someone is using her against you."

Harry got the impression that the professor knew just as well as he did who that 'someone' was.

"There is only one solution that I can see," he went on, "well, two, if the two of you were willing to cease all contact."

This was immediately answered by a violent shaking of the head.

"Well then, I can only suggest that she begins the study of Occlumency herself, and to guard against the threat of your other friends being affected in such a way, I shall have to educate you in the ways of Legilimency a lot sooner than expected."

He once again gestured to Harry, who was on the point of getting out of bed.

"For now, just get some rest," he said, "We shall speak later on when you are properly recovered."

Cursing under his breath as Lockhart departed, Harry rested his head back on the pillow and watched Ginny sleep. He knew she was strong, but this still seemed so unfair. All he knew was that he would need a great deal of help to keep his emotions under control in the days ahead.

It was dark when Harry awoke from a uniquely dreamless sleep. Something had woken him. A voice had woken him. Reaching for his glasses, he looked around to see who had spoken, but Ginny was gone and the room was completely deserted. Then he heard the voice again.

"_Can you hear me_?" it asked.

It was different from a normal human voice, and Harry realised that not only could he hear it around him, though rather distantly, but also inside his head. He recognised the pattern of the voice, and felt a slight chill come over him. It was the voice of a snake. However uncomfortable it made Harry to speak in parseltongue, an ability he had learned of shortly before learning he was a wizard, he felt he should make some kind of reply.

"Yes, I hear you," he responded in the same whispered, hissing language.

"_Do you hear my pain_?" came the voice, echoing within Harry's ears, "_It pulses like the flowing of my blood."_

This was utterly bewildering to Harry, but he still felt the need to continue the conversation.

"Why are you in pain?" he asked.

"_Who can say_?" replied the voice, "_There are those who walk tall, and those who slither among them, but most who even draw breath will also know pain. YOU do, of that I am certain."_

Harry was becoming very suspicious of where this was leading, but a natural curiosity drove him onwards.

"Who are you?"

He then heard a laugh, or whatever a laugh could be in the tongues of snakes.

"_As I am, I have no use for a name_," said the voice mockingly, "_Though if I did, I would take no pleasure in introducing myself. You have every right to ask, and I have every right to refuse"_

Alright then, where to from here?

"Could you at least tell me why you are speaking to me?" Harry settled on.

"_Because you answered_," hissed the voice coldly.

There was a pause as Harry wondered what he could really say in response to this, but the voice spoke again and interrupted his thoughts.

"_I want to ask you a question_," it said, "_You need not even speak your answer aloud, for it is sure to be engraved upon your mind, just as your fate is inscribed across the stars."_

On hearing these words, Harry did what he could with what little Occlumency he had learned, and pulled a blank veil over every distinguishable thought in his head.

"Why should I answer YOUR questions, when you only seem to speak in riddles?" he seethed defiantly.

The voice sounded very angry now, and the hiss was beginning to cause stabbing hot pains in Harry's ears and behind his eyes. His scar began to burn as the voice articulated its rage.

"_I DEPISE RIDDLES_!" it uttered venomously, "_I WILL ASK A SIMPLE QUESTION, AND YOU WILL GIVE AN HONEST ANSWER!"_

The storm then calmed and the voice descended into quietly sick and twisted tones.

"_What do you fear? What would it take to break that courageous heart_?"

Reeling slightly from the pain, Harry held the veil in place and hissed back.

"I have no use for my heart when hatred is all that is left."

Even within their common tongue, Harry couldn't quite make out what followed. It was as if the voice was a blend of displeasure, annoyance and amusement, but without any clearly discernable words.

"_Bold sentiment indeed_," it said, "_though nothing short of pathetic. Your tender age belies your strength, but your heart is as transparent as your laughable attempt to repel me, and don't you dare try to preach hatred to ME! What you know of hatred is but a teardrop in the ocean_."

Harry was beginning to lose his temper, and feared that this would open his mind further.

"LEAVE ME NOW!" he replied angrily, and as loud as the language would allow.

He heard the poisoned laughter once more.

"_Very well, I shall do you that courtesy_," it said smugly, "_After all; I have already sensed that fear in you that you refuse to admit. Farewell."_

After a few deep breaths, Harry could be sure that he was free of the presence. Raking his hands through his hair, he realised that he had been sweating quite heavily, and there was a small tremble in his hands when he tried to hold them still.

His first impulse was that the voice had been that of Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord had invaded his mind before, in his fifth year at Hogwarts, so he knew it was possible. This theory was, however, dismissed after a few moments' thought, as the voice hadn't just been inside his head. He had heard it clearly in a way that suggested that whoever or whatever it was had been fairly close at hand, and he refused to believe that _any_ magic of Voldemort's could allow him to pass the well-protected borders of Hogwarts.

There was only one thing for sure; both he and Ginny would be seeing Professor Lockhart the following morning. Harry would be pushing himself beyond every limit he had.


	26. Awakening the Mind

Chapter 26 – Awakening the Mind

Ginny Weasley woke up with the same nausea in the pit of her stomach as when she had fallen asleep. It had never been her intention to betray Harry, but it had been explained to her by Professor Lockhart that she would have certainly done so if Harry hadn't had a gut feeling that something was wrong. How was he supposed to trust her now? She would be seeing him again in less than an hour and was, in all honesty, dreading the confrontation.

She dressed herself and sauntered slowly down into the Gryffindor common room. Rather sooner than expected, she encountered Harry, who was sitting in an armchair talking to Dale Tulstan. They both looked up as she approached, but with a nervous smile, she gestured for them to carry on their discussion.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked her, as Dale stared awkwardly at the floor.

"Yes, I…I'm fine," she replied, heading towards the portrait hole, "I'll see you later."

Before Harry could say so much as "Yeah, see you", she had disappeared. He slowly turned back to Dale, trying to look as casually dismissive as he could.

"Don't ask," he said, "Anyway, what were you going to say?"

Dale looked gloomily back at him.

"I really don't think I belong here."

Harry couldn't say that he had heard such talk from any other student in the past, no matter who may have been thinking the same thing at one time or another. However, he was able to reply without a moment's reflection.

"If you didn't belong here, you wouldn't be here at all," he said, "It's only been a week. Just give it time."

This didn't seem to cheer or encourage Dale in the slightest. He pulled out his wand and regarded it with a look of helpless confusion.

"I don't even know if this works properly," he muttered with disdain, "Any magic I've managed to do must've been by accident, and everyone else here seems to know it all."

This was something with which Harry could truly identify. He had been feeling exactly the same when he himself began his education at Hogwarts, and it had taken him long enough to accept that he had magical blood, especially after having been brought up in his aunt and uncle's household.

"Well, I'm not much of a teacher," he began modestly, "but I could show you a few basic ideas to follow."

Dale's eyes lit up at this. He had become sure that the great Harry Potter could put him on the right path.

"Now," said Harry in a very official tone, "it's a little cold in here, so why not start with a small fire?"

He pointed his wand into the fireplace and return to the verbal spell for the sake of the demonstration.

"Incendio" he said, and a roaring fire burst to life in the grate.

Dale had often seen his father perform such magic, but had never thought of it as something that those closer to his own age could do. He continued to gaze in wonder, even after Harry had extinguished the flames with a flick of his wand.

"You try," Harry urged.

With a certain amount of apprehension, Dale pointed his own wand towards the warm coals.

"In…Incendio!" he stammered.

The faded embers glowed brighter for a moment, and a small wisp of smoke rose amongst them, but nothing more. The boy was looking discouraged once again.

"Say it with confidence," said Harry calmly, "Try and picture the fire that you're trying to create. Take a breath, relax, and try again."

Dale did as he was instructed, and this time, sparks flew from the end of the wand and a small candle-like flame ignited. Harry was already impressed at the progress, as he had often taken weeks on end to learn spells of one kind or another.

"Alright, once more," he told Dale excitedly, "and this time, get some feeling behind it. See if you can get a real blaze going. I know you can do it."

The boy focused determinedly and imagined that the entire room was in fact burning around him.

"_INCENDIO_!" he yelled.

There came a flash from his wand which struck the fireplace with a vengeance and exploded in a raging inferno, the blast from which sent them both flying backwards in their chairs, halfway across the common room. Within seconds, a number of Gryffindors had come running from the dormitories with wands at the ready, and were gasping in amazement at the flames that billowed up past the mantelpiece.

As the fire was brought under control, Harry and Dale emerged, coughing and spluttering from underneath the stricken armchairs. Harry removed his glasses, revealing two clean eyes encircled by a face full of black soot. He surveyed the damage; a slight blackening of the surrounding wall and singe marks on the furniture and hearth rug. Giving the scene an appraising look, he returned to Dale who was now rubbing the dust out of his eyes and looking a little dishevelled. There was a brief silence as he attempted to verbalise an evaluation of the young man's handiwork.

"_Better_," he settled on, before adding, "Perhaps a _little_ more control and restraint next time, but none of us are perfect."

For the first time in over a month, Dale Tulstan looked and felt genuinely happy.

After wolfing down a modest breakfast, Harry made his way along the corridor to Professor Lockhart's classroom. Ginny was already seated at the table in the middle of the room, and jumped a little as she heard him enter.

"Ah, Harry," said Lockhart, rising from his chair, "I've just been explaining to Miss Weasley here that Professor McGonagall has given permission for her to be taught Occlumency. I trust her presence will not affect your concentration, nor vice versa?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.

"I, er…I shouldn't think so, sir," he replied.

The professor took his seat once more, just as Harry took his, and contemplated the pair of them.

"Well," he said, "let us hope not. Now Potter, I hope you won't mind just observing for the time being, while I go through the basic outline of Occlumency once again."

Harry shook his head.

"Excellent," he continued, turning his attention to Ginny, "Now, Miss Weasley, we shall begin the process of guarding your mind. I shall be using Legilimency at every stage, just to see how well you are able to conceal your thoughts from others, so if you would be so kind as to close your eyes and allow yourself to be comfortable with your situation. You must be comfortable with your surroundings, comfortable around those with whom you are sharing this room, and most of all, comfortable with the subject you are being taught. Then, let your thoughts drift where they may, and we shall begin."

With one last nervous glance at Harry, Ginny closed her eyes and attempted to follow these instructions to the letter. Lockhart began to speak again, but she could only hear a deep, booming voice drowning him out. It sounded both wise and reassuring, but she couldn't help shivering a little as it sounded loudly in her ears.

"Through centuries, the spirit has lived, but remained in slumber. The torch must be passed; Let the blood of Gryffindor awake."

Ginny shook herself, opened her eyes and looked desperately around, utterly oblivious to the fact that Lockhart was still talking.

"Who's there?" she interrupted sharply.

This prompted Harry to look around as well. Seeing that there wasn't another soul in the room, Ginny began to feel foolish. She looked back to the professor, who was now regarding her with both suspicion and annoyance.

"When you're quite ready, Miss Weasley, there is much to learn. As you were, please."

Reluctantly, she closed her eyes again. As Lockhart fixed her with the familiar gaze of a Legilimens, Harry could shake the feeling that something was amiss. This wasn't the same look of calm that he wore when trying to explore Harry's thoughts. Instead, it seemed to be struggling in some kind of conflict. Before long, he could see creases of fierce concentration in the professor's face and even a bead of sweat running from his forehead. He began to shake all over and grabbed Harry by the wrist in panic.

"Professor?" said Harry, watching Lockhart grow paler by the second.

Ginny hadn't the slightest idea that her mind had been inflicting such distress on her teacher, and so remained calmly cooperative with a flicker of scepticism on her face. Her eyes then shot wide open as she heard Lockhart cry out like a wounded animal. He tore his gaze from hers and hid his face in his hands.

"No…I don't believe it…" he muttered, shaking his head and breathing heavily, "It's not…possible!"

"What's going on?" enquired Ginny, looking expectantly from one to the other.

Harry was staring in bewilderment at Lockhart, who wasn't acknowledging the presence of either one of them and simply continued to babble feverishly to himself. Feeling suddenly impatient and thoroughly sick of being kept in the dark, Ginny rose to her feet.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's happening!" she exclaimed furiously.

Lockhart slowly and cautiously lifted his head, but refused to meet her eyes. After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke.

"Ginny, have you been schooled in Occlumency or Legilimency before?"

"Of course I haven't," she replied, shaking her head in confusion.

"Does your family have any history of exceptional talent in these fields?"

"I haven't got a clue. Mum can usually tell if any of us are lying, but that's about as exciting as it gets. What exactly are you getting at?"

Lockhart gently rubbed his eyeballs with the tips of his fingers in the manner of one pondering the very meaning of existence.

"Miss Weasley, would you mind waiting outside?" he asked, his voice quieter still, "I need to have a serious talk with Harry."

"What is there to tell me that _she_ can't hear?" asked Harry, very annoyed.

"Look, the two of you will just have to trust me for now. There are things I still need to understand. Miss Weasley, if you please?"

Looking daggers at Professor Lockhart, Ginny walked past them and out of the door without a word. Harry's eyes followed her out of sight. He couldn't help feeling sorry for her, after all, he had had a lot of secrets kept from him in the past. He turned back to Lockhart and made it perfectly clear that there had better be a good explanation for this.

"I have no intention of wasting your time, Potter," the professor began, "so I'll get straight to the point. What I just witnessed was nothing short of a miracle, and a rather startling one to say the least."

"What do you mean?" he replied, taken aback.

"I mean that what I saw in that girl's head was a phenomenon only written about in books, and even then simply passed off as wishful thinking. It was a gift the likes of which I never thought I would see in my entire life."

Harry was beginning to wonder when the professor would be getting to the root of the matter.

"Well, what _did_ you see?" he asked.

"To begin with, there was a dull mist rolling across my mind's eye," Lockhart continued, "I thought at first that this was simply an excellent first attempt at Occlumency, but what I saw when the mist cleared was far, far beyond anything I could teach you. I saw in my head what I saw with my open eyes, Harry!"

This hardly shed much light on the subject, but Harry was undeterred in his curiosity.

"So what does _that_ mean?"

Lockhart fixed him with a looked that could have been placed somewhere in the middle-ground between an ecstatic genius and a lunatic.

"That was the only thought that she was allowing me to see! Don't you understand? Having never studied Occlumency _or_ Legilimency before, she was attempting to employ both simultaneously without the slightest clue as to what she was doing!"

The professor spun round and paced a circle around the room.

"And that's not all!" he said, stopping in his tracks and turning abruptly to face Harry again, "A competent Occlumens would be able to use their mind to conceal fact and reveal fiction to others, but when all is said and done, both are still there to be found. That girl was not only reflecting my _own_ thoughts, but also showing me that neither fact nor fiction even _existed_ in her mind; as though there was nothing there to be hidden in the first place. I suppose the only comparison I could make would be an impenetrable wall of mirrors with nothing behind it…if that makes sense – and there is only one way I can imagine that anyone could be capable of such mental stubbornness."

There was a pause as Harry tried to digest all this. It was only after a few seconds' careful thought that he even realised the question at the end that had remained unanswered.

"And, err…how could that happen?" he asked.

Professor Lockhart calmly sat down and looked as though he were deciding upon the best way to break a piece of tragic news to the boy.

"Only…if they happened to be dead."

This was a lot to take in. Evidently, as Lockhart had pointed out, Ginny was unaware of what she had been doing, and every time Harry thought about it from a different perspective, he felt inclined to agree with his teacher that something like this just wasn't possible. He had yet more questions on his mind.

"But…" he began, "…but what about in the hospital wing? You said she was being used to get information from me, but if she could close her mind off that well…"

"Believe me, Potter, I've been thinking the very same thing over and over," interrupted the professor, "It also prompts the question why an individual with such a gift as this could have been lured into the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry murmured in agreement and racked his brain for an answer. The minutes of silence ticked by, with not so much as the ticking of a clock to disturb the nearly painful concentration of thought in the room, until Lockhart finally spoke.

"Unless…what if this were all down to the power of suggestion?" he said slowly and cautiously, "Perhaps today was the first time she had actually been _warned_ that certain powers of the mind would be used against her, and some kind of dormant defence was triggered somehow. It's certainly a possibility."

This was something that Harry was really having a hard time getting his head around. He could have told anyone who asked that Ginny was special. She would have been special to him even if magic hadn't existed. It was the fact that so much had happened to her at once, and it seemed only fair to him that she be allowed to deal with one thing at a time. When the lessons had finished for the day, he would need to have some alone time with her. No matter what Lockhart thoughts were on the subject, Harry wasn't about to keep one single secret from her. Then it occurred to him that keeping secrets from Ginny would now be impossible anyway.


	27. The Art of War

Chapter 27 – The Art of War

"AGAIN!" roared Professor Moody furiously.

Harry picked himself up from the corner of classroom into which he had been violently flung by Moody's last jinx. He had been trying to get to grips with advanced defensive magic for the past five weeks, and now he was beginning to realise just how brutal the duelling methods of dark wizards could be. He was aching all over and had, on many occasions, been on the brink of asking the professor if he could just take a rest for a while. What had silenced him in such times was a gentle reminder that no Death Eater would allow him that luxury.

"You should've seen that one coming a mile off!" he continued abrasively, "Get that instinct of yours working! There are certain spells that dark wizards favour, and it's your job to be ready for any one of them at any time."

Without a word, Harry dusted himself off and blocked the next two jinxes in quick succession, before firing a stunning spell of his own. He was a good deal cheered to see that this last almost caught Moody off his guard. As they paused for breath, Harry noticed the grave expression on his teacher's face.

"Well, you're getting better, there's no doubt about that," growled Moody, "and maybe I'm starting this topic a little sooner than I should, but I believe it's right that we begin addressing this now. You asked me about the Unforgivable Curses, and now your curiosity will be rewarded."

He hobbled back to his desk, wincing in annoyance as his wooden leg began to cause him fleeting pain, and beckoned to Harry to sit down. Professor Moody's appearance was more deceptive than ever. His scarred face was looking increasingly weathered, and though he rarely placed much importance in his appearance, his clothes were shabbier than ever. Perhaps his age had also caught up with him, but Harry needed only to remember Dumbledore to know that it would take more than age to slow the wits of such a great wizard.

"All this involves finely tuned defensive skills," he continued, both eyes now studying Harry, "It's not easy, but you yourself are living proof that _nothing_ is impossible, and always remember that the Unforgivable Curses are _not_ the last word in battle. You just have to gain a fuller understanding of them and the magic from which they stem."

Taking up a piece of chalk, he moved over to the blackboard and listed the three curses.

"Firstly, the Imperius Curse," he said, stabbing viciously at the words on the board and breaking the chalk in the process, "Now here's where your lessons with Professor Lockhart become so important. Occlumency will protect your mind, not only from those who wish to get a glimpse inside, but also from any who would use you to do their bidding. The curse itself may still slow you down a bit, but if you can shield yourself well enough, they won't make you do anything against your will. Those lessons are of paramount importance, so make sure you keep up the hard work!"

This caused Harry to worry that he hadn't been working half as hard as he should have been.

"And now, we have the Cruciatus Curse," Moody continued, before he had the chance to dwell any further on the subject, "Don't even think about using your standard protective charms against it, in fact, try not to think about defensive magic at all. When a dark wizard sends a curse like this your way, it's time to fight fire with fire, and I'll be showing you a few examples of that a little later. Unless, of course, you would prefer the kind of excruciating pain that could have you pleading for your throat to be cut?"

Having experienced a small dose of this sensation firsthand, Harry decided that he would do well to pay attention to every word that Mad-Eye had to say. What worried him was just how far a practical demonstration could be taken. Pointing grimly at the final name on the board, the professor lowered his voice and spoke almost as if he were delivering a eulogy at a funeral.

"And here is the curse with which you are most tragically all too familiar. I am told that the Dark Lord has tried no fewer than _three_ times to end your life with it, so I consider it truly remarkable that you are sitting in front of me now. Avada Kedavra, under any normal circumstances, will kill instantly. There are only two ways that the target could survive once the spell has been cast; the first being if it misses them altogether, and second is if there is very sturdy object or a _very_ unfortunate individual to take the impact instead. Your first encounter with Voldemort, however, wasn't exactly under 'normal' circumstances."

Harry began wondering for the first time what kind of experience Moody himself had had with these curses in the heat of battle.

"What you have to realise is that it all comes from a good deal of concentrated thought, as well as a heavy dose of sadism and bitterness," the professor continued, "If you strike effectively at the mind of your opponent, it's possible to undo the magic behind the curse, and some very nasty things can happen to those who attempt to use Unforgivable Curses after sustaining the right kind of mental damage."

Moody then took the largest fragment of chalk and made another list on the blackboard.

"These are just a few of the charms and jinxes you can use addle the brains of a dark wizard, ranging from the mild to the severe. I expect you to be able to perform all of them non-verbally, and without a moment's hesitation."

There were some spells on the list that Harry recognised immediately, and some he had never yet come across. There was a small assortment of stunning spells near the top, as well as a few designed to hypnotise. The names became more a more unfamiliar as the list went on.

"The…'Exterritus' charm?" he enquired, picking a spell at random as Moody finished.

"Ah yes," came the reply, along with an expression that was part caution and part guilty amusement, "Even the top ministry aurors have to receive prior consent before using that one, and they need a pretty solid case for making the request. I can't pretend that I myself haven't used it a few times in the line of duty, though it must be said that I didn't have much regard for ministry guidelines and regulations."

He scowled as these words passed his lips. Harry was well aware of Professor Moody's distain for the Ministry of Magic, and couldn't help agreeing with him, from what he knew of the matter.

"But what does it do?" he asked.

"Fear, Harry," enunciated the professor, "The purest form of paranoia. They become terrified of their surroundings, and then, depending on the force you put behind the casting of the charm itself, the fear can drive them mad. I used it when pursuing dark wizards because fear, panic, hesitation, anxiety; it all causes mistakes. Every mistake a dark wizard makes is an advantage to those who face them."

Harry was utterly thrilled by this. He scanned down the rest of the names and chose another.

"Corrumpus?"

"Hmm…very nasty piece of work, that one," growled Moody, "when used under the right circumstances, of course. It manipulates the lines of communication between mind and body; causes exaggerated twitchy movements, involuntary violent spasms of the limbs, all sorts. The victim will be totally unaware that anything's amiss until they try moving in some way, and let's just say that using an Unforgivable Curse while you're in that kind of state is NOT advisable!"

It was time, Harry felt, to address the question that had worked its way to the front of his mind.

"Professor, I don't quite understand how we can practice all this…"

"Without one of us being killed or committed to St Mungo's Hospital for the rest of their life?" cut in Moody with a grin, "There is a way, Harry, and it's a case of employing a very simple measure of which surprisingly few witches or wizards are aware."

The professor then drew his wand and pointed it towards the ceiling.

"_Futilius_" he muttered, and the wand glowed a deep blue for a moment before returning to normal.

Harry looked on curiously as he pointed it at a large glass candle holder mounted on the wall.

"_Reducto_!" he barked.

A small flash of light flew from the wand tip, but the glass candle holder remained intact.

"You see," said Moody, turning back to Harry, "It effectively disables your wand; renders it totally harmless. The spells will be cast alright, but their targets will be unchanged. I could stand here and shout 'Avada Kedavra' at you all day long, and the most damage I could hope to do would be to your eyesight, with all those flashes of green. Quite easy to reverse, of course. Just say 'Restituo' and you'll be back in business."

Harry then drew his own wand.

"_Futilius_," he said, and his wand glowed just as the professor's had done.

"Good," replied Moody, moving into a more open space, "Now we can begin. One thing to remember is that you won't find many dark wizards who are able to perform Unforgivable Curses whilst trying to continuously fend off attacks, so a good place to start is learning how to gain the upper hand in rapid combat. What you have to do is force them back until they can do nothing but defend themselves. You can expect the likes of the Cruciatus curse when they have time to breathe, so your first job is to deny them that. _Think_ faster and _act_ faster, that's the key."

Stopping for a moment to ponder this concept, Harry was suddenly startled and blinded by a lightening-fast barrage of spells that seemed to explode in small flares of light, mere inches from his chest and face. He staggered backwards in shock, and Professor Moody declared a ceasefire. He looked stone-faced at Harry, and spoke in very grim tones.

"You should be thankful that as a teacher, I can be very safety conscious when I want to be…because otherwise, I would've just killed you in four different ways, and two of them would have you dead before you hit the ground. Not a pretty sight it would have been either."

As Harry steadied his breathing, he began to see once again just how far out of his depth he was.

"Out of curiosity," Moody continued, "when were you planning to raise your wand and defend yourself? You _must_ be prepared at _all_ times! It's that sort of attitude that has kept me alive all these years, and even then I've had more than my fair share of close shaves."

The boy was now staring at him, lost for words and convinced that it was unjust for this much to be expected of him already. The professor's expression softened into a kindly smile, as if he could somehow hear what Harry wanted to say. He limped towards him and focused both his eyes sympathetically, or as much so as he could manage with his magical eye.

"Look, I know it's not easy. You can't just become an auror overnight, and what I ask of you is far more demanding, but it's all _there_," he emphasised, tapping a finger against Harry's forehead, "If I didn't think you could do this, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. Think about the lessons so far, Potter. Have I ever lost my patience? Have I ever had to explain anything to you more than once? It's in your blood, and all you need to do focus and develop the gifts you've always had."

He backed away and resumed a duelling stance.

"With our wands disabled, you will be able to safely attempt counter-measures to the Unforgivable Curses, and trust me, I'll know if they would have been effective. For now, I'll let you attack first."

Harry raised his wand and did as he was told. An instant later, he heard a venomous roar from Professor Moody.

"_Crucio_!"

The light that shot from the tip of the professor's wand became suddenly blurred after about four feet, as it appeared to come to blows with Harry's spell. Slowly, the light dispersed into thin air. Moody was giving him what he took to be an encouraging look.

"A Confundus charm?" he said with a raised eyebrow, "Simple, and in this case, effective, but you leave far too much to chance with that one. You need to attack the mind without mercy, as well as defend yourself. Remember, it could happen as soon as they have a moment to concentrate, so that is when you should be _expecting_ it. We shall try again, but this time as a proper duel."

Acting on what had now become some kind of gut reaction, Harry launched a series of jinxes at his teacher as fast as he possibly could, some of which were actually reaching within a couple of feet of their intended target before being deflected. He was also pleased to discover that his defensive charms were now effortless, as Moody fought back. Then, as if naturally anticipating that the worst was about to happen, be began to run through the charms he had remembered from the blackboard in his head, hoping that he would be capable of casting the right one.

He watched as a cold and hateful expression slowly crept over the professor's face, all the while continuing the increasingly rapid exchange of violent magic. He knew that expression. He had seen it on Professor Snape's face as he took Dumbledore's life, and he had seen it burned into the face of Lord Voldemort in his dreams. Concentrating as painfully as he could, he summoned a charm to his mind.

"_EXTERRITUS_!" cried a voice inside his head, and the charm was cast before he even realised he had not spoken it aloud.

All of a sudden, the only thing Harry could hear was his own heartbeat. He saw Moody's mouth roaring the words of the curse, but was deaf to his voice. There came a slight rush of air against his face as the jet of green light soared from the professor's wand, but as the two spells clashed between them, the green light stopped dead like a vicious dog whose owner had suddenly tightened its leash. Both Harry and Moody stared in disbelief as the lights began to swirl around one another and turn to a rich purple glow. A stream of purple light then shot back towards Moody and exploded in a blinding flash, a few inches from his chest. The air was then filled with a cocktail of silence and smoke.

Moody waved the smoke out of his face, his magical eye swivelling in every direction as he lowered his wand and slowly approached the boy. He beamed at Harry like a proud father, evidently very excited about what he had just seen.

"You're not ready," he said, his face looking suddenly wary, before his smile returned, "but you're so much closer than I imagined. That was proof beyond doubt that Dumbledore didn't make a mistake."

As the lesson drew to a close, Harry still couldn't help feeling that he had only scratched the surface of what Defence against the Dark Arts was really about, and had only just begun to learn what he would need to know. For starters, there was only _one_ of Professor Moody, so how could he handle being set upon by half a dozen Death Eaters? He was also thoroughly unconvinced that he would prove to be any kind of challenge for Voldemort himself.

The hour was later than he had thought, and on his way back from the lesson, he found himself face to face with an agitated and breathless Ginny.

"Where have you been?" she gasped, "I've been looking everywhere! Ron and Hermione have been itching to speak to you all afternoon, and I…I've…missed you."

Harry smiled at her.

"You're the Legilimens," he replied, raising his eyebrow, "Why don't you tell _me_ where I've been?"

"I've told you before, I _won't_ use that against you," she said, throwing him an impatient look, "I won't use it against you, Ron, Hermione, or anyone else I care about. Do you think I'm comfortable being able to do that? I never _asked_ for it."

Harry didn't answer. He was distracted by the sight of Robert Darius, one of the new Slytherin first years, who was walking hesitantly along the corridor towards them.

"What's he doing here?" whispered Harry.

Robert halted in his tracks as Ginny turned to face him. Now was no time to be petty about bitter rivalry between houses, she decided.

"Excuse me," she said kindly, "but are you lost? Slytherin common room's just back down the way you've come, then turn left."

The boy remained motionless, and seemed very nervous indeed. After a pause, he took a couple of small steps back.

"Are you alright?" she said, looking at him more closely.

Robert did nothing to disguise the fear in his countenance, and without warning, her mind's eye opened. She needed only a second's glance at him before she spun back round.

"Harry, behind you!"

With a single fluid motion, Harry pulled Ginny to the ground and drew his wand, just as two jinxes flew over their heads. This time, his attack was cast almost before he could think about it. He was only aware of the spells rocketing from his wand tip, and saw Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode flung like rag dolls against the opposite wall as he looked up. As they sat on the ground, both dazed and frightened, there came a booming voice from behind Robert.

"What the blazes is going on here?!" barked Moody sharply, before turning to the petrified first year, "You boy! Go to the hospital wing and tell Madame Pomfrey there's two seventh year girls who need treating for shock, maybe some bruising too. Hurry up!"

"Now, you two," he growled, addressing Pansy and Millicent and ignoring the two Gryffindors, "Can you stand up alright? Any dizziness at all? Feel like there's anything broken?"

They whimpered in reply and staggered to their feet.

"Good," Moody continued, "I'll accompany you to see Madame Pomfrey. Better safe than sorry, eh?"

They limped past him just as Harry and Ginny stood up.

"As for this young wretch," he said, turning to Harry, "I believe Mr Filch will have plenty of unpleasant tasks to delegate, as soon as I've had an explanation as to what happened here!"

The two Slytherin girls looked back at them, attempting to grin through the discomfort. Both Harry and Ginny were on the point of protesting until he drew level with them and spoke excitedly in a low whisper.

"Excellent, Potter! I saw the whole thing. No hesitation, dead on target, and you had them both completely unprepared! I'm telling you now, you're a credit to me, to your mother and father, and a credit to Albus Dumbledore!"


	28. Amongst Friends

Chapter 28 – Amongst Friends

Ron and Hermione had been anxious over Harry's whereabouts all evening. They hadn't dared to shift from the common room since Ginny had volunteered to go on a search and rescue mission. Ron was trying to distract himself by seeing how fast he could perform refilling charms on a tankard of butter beer, and Hermione was pacing around and quickly becoming a bundle of nerves, whilst occasionally suggesting that she should go out looking for both of them.

"Hermione, will you just calm down?" sighed Ron, "There's already two missing in action and you won't make things any better by wandering off yourself. There are members of the Order on duty, and you know perfectly well that they can both take care of themselves anyway."

It wasn't often that she was unable to fault Ron's logic, but she now conceded and slumped into a comfy chair. She had barely a second to rest before the portrait hole swung open, and in walked Harry and Ginny, dishevelled in appearance and both wearing idiotic smiles. Despite having been more rational than Hermione, Ron was the first to leap up and demand an explanation.

"We've been waiting for ages!" he cried, "Did you fancy an impromptu stroll around Hogsmead on the way back or something?"

"No of course not, Ron!" replied Ginny, still grinning, "We were ambushed by that sack of puke who calls herself Pansy Parkinson."

Hermione was thoroughly confused.

"But…what's so funny about that?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing at all," Ginny assured her, trying to straighten her face, "There were two of them actually. Do you know, they even used some poor little first year as bait?"

Ron was shaking his head, even more puzzled than Hermione.

"Well, it still looks as if you found it all very amusing," he grunted, picking up his newly filled tankard, "Perhaps you could tell us what we're missing here?"

"Neither of us were hurt, but Harry attacked them so fast after they missed that they never saw what hit them," she beamed, "Really, I'd never seen him move like that in my life, and the speed of those jinxes was unbelievable…and to be honest, I've never been so strangely turned on…"

They were then treated to a shower of butter beer from Ron.

"Do you mind?" he spluttered, "As your brother, that's more information than I need thank you very much!"

Ginny sneered as she dried her face and sweater.

"It's for drinking, Ron. Try to remember that."

"Hey, I try to be an understanding person, but a line has to be drawn SOMEWHERE," he protested, wiping the butter beer from his chin and retreating to the fireside.

Hermione pulled Ginny aside and whispered in her ear.

"Really?" she asked.

Ginny nodded with a guilty smile.

"Professor Sprout had to…err…separate us in the corridor."

"Oh my…" was all Hermione could manage in reply.

They were interrupted by a loud cough from Harry.

"Um…Ginny said that you two wanted to speak to me about something or other?"

It was then that Ron turned his head back to the group, relieved that the conversation was now becoming more palatable. He exchanged glances with Hermione, who felt she should start the ball rolling.

"Well, the thing is, Harry…We just felt that we should be doing more to help you out."

This threw Harry a little, as Hermione wouldn't usually ask permission to help. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed that she hadn't been constantly giving advice since the beginning of term.

"Not quite sure how you could really help me," he shrugged, before adding quickly, "Not wanting to sound ungrateful or anything, but I just don't fancy using my friends as target practice."

"Well what about Charms and Transfiguration?" she enquired hopefully.

Harry considered this. He wasn't aware of what Ron and Hermione had been learning for their N.E.W.T studies while he had been schooled in certain specialist fields, but surely it could do no harm to let them help him test the effectiveness of the magic he had learned?

"Hmmm…okay," he replied, "Just don't let on to McGonagall that I told you about any of this. You know how she likes things done by the book, and this isn't exactly part of a Ministry-approved Transfiguration lesson."

They both nodded, Ron joining the other three for a closer look. Harry positioned himself about a foot away from the common room wall, facing his expectant audience.

"You'll all have to bear with me for this one, because I still have to use the verbal spell, and the timing isn't always quite right."

Pointing his wand downwards with both hands, he closed his eyes, concentrated hard, and hoped that the demonstration would go well.

"_Misceorum_," he murmured, stepping swiftly backwards.

The three gasped in amazement as Harry disappeared into the wall. There was a silence for about five seconds before they finally saw a nose and a pair of glasses emerge, followed by the rest of their friend.

"That was bloody incredible, mate!" exclaimed Ron excitedly.

Ginny looked equally impressed and even Hermione wore a slightly stunned expression as she tried to remember where she had read about a spell such as this.

"I messed that up a bit," he mumbled bitterly, "I think my feet were still sticking out."

Ron stared at him as if he were a raving lunatic and then turned to Hermione.

"Do you have any bright ideas as to how we are supposed to 'help' someone who's learning magic like _that_?" he grumbled sceptically, "And from what Ginny said, I doubt he'll need our help defending himself either."

Harry couldn't bear this. He knew Ron had often felt as though he was left standing in the shadows, and this was no way for a friendship to function. As for Hermione, he didn't like the idea of Ron feeling neglected as she burned the midnight oil over a pile of books from the school library. This had to be sorted out as quickly as possible.

"Look, I'll be fine," he said, trying to reassure himself of this at the same time, "If you really want to help me, just cover for me as best you can when I go to visit my parents' graves. Or better still, get plenty of practice defending yourselves. I know all three of you have done really well with that, but I'm worried enough about _myself_. I couldn't bear it if I thought you were unprepared in any way."

As he walked towards the fireplace, he stopped dead in his tracks as he was struck by a flash of inspiration.

"That's it!" he cried, "Hermione, do you know if everyone still has those enchanted coins?"

Like a salute and a grand pledge of allegiance, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all simultaneously drew a large Galleon out of their pockets and smiled.

"I believe it's time to call the DA out of retirement."

To accommodate the timetables of all concerned, Harry had scheduled the official DA re-opening meeting for the following Saturday night. He had no idea how many of the original members would be attending, as many had left or hadn't returned to Hogwarts that year. As he pondered this question, as well as the meeting plan and which books to bring along for reference, he was aware of a voice at his elbow.

"Harry?"

"Oh Dale, it's you," he said, shaking himself back to reality, "What did you want?"

Dale paused, a little embarrassed to have disturbed his new role model.

"Well…I just wondered…I…mean, if you know…what is the DA?"

Harry was looking at him properly now.

"Who told you about that?" he enquired.

The young boy hesitated. Would he get in trouble for knowing something he shouldn't?

"I…um…heard one of your friends talking about it."

Harry restrained his feelings. It was well known amongst the members that the DA should remain a closely guarded secret.

"Do you know much about Defence Against the Dark Arts?" he asked.

"Not much," replied Dale, "Only what we've been taught so far."

Realising it had been a stupid question to ask, Harry decided that it was a time for bluntness.

"Well, it's something to do with that. Look, it's very important that you don't tell anyone else about it, so I appreciate it if you could forget this conversation ever happened."

As he turned to leave the common room, he heard the words that were as inevitable as the rising of the sun; the words he _really_ didn't want to hear.

"Can I be a part of it?" Dale ventured cautiously.

Harry closed his eyes, cursed under his breath, and slowly turned back to face him. He couldn't rightly say no. Dale's father had been murdered by Death Eaters, so who was to say that they wouldn't one day come looking for Dale. Perhaps he should have simply left the young boy disappointed and walked out, but this was now an option he didn't seem to have.

"I'll take you to see Hermione," he said after the deepest breath he could muster, watching painfully as Dale's face lit up with excitement, "You can come along and see what it's like, but I need you to promise me two things. Firstly, that you will tell _nobody_ that the DA exists, and second, that you don't use or talk about _anything_ you learn at the meeting in front of anyone else unless, for whatever reason, you have no choice. None of these things would be taught to first years, and we'll _all_ be in trouble if the teachers find out."

Dale nodded vigorously as Harry reached into his bag and drew out the invisibility cloak.

"Put this on," he ordered, "If we're caught, I don't want you being questioned about it."

The boy readily agreed and jumped in shock as his body seemed to disappear before his eyes.

"Follow me and be as quiet as you can."

The two of them left the common room and made their way carefully up to the seventh floor. The DA had formerly held their secret meetings in the Room of Requirement, a room that would change its appearance to suit the needs of anyone who happened to be in need when passing it. In Harry's fifth year, when the DA had been founded, their security had been breached by Draco Malfoy and members of the Inquisitorial Squad, assembled by the widely-despised temporary headmistress Professor Umbridge. Now that Malfoy had fled, and word had got around about Pansy Parkinson's failed attack on Harry and Ginny, it was safe to say that they wouldn't be in any danger of Slytherin interference.

Thankfully for the DA, the weekend behavioural pattern of the staff had become fairly predictable. Harry gave a few subtle nods of greeting as he passed members on the stairs, and made sure to be in sight of a couple of them as he and Dale reached the point where the entrance to the room would appear. Quietly requesting that the room became the DA headquarters, he watched as the door materialised in front of them. One by one, keeping a look out for staff on patrol, the members followed Harry inside, each seeming somewhat comforted by the old familiar surroundings. Ginny, who had not seen Harry all day (owing to additional lessons with Professor McGonagall), ran over and savagely wrapped herself around him.

"Woah!" came a cry out of thin air, and after a struggle on the ground, where he had been knocked by the enthusiastic greeting, Dale emerged from the invisibility cloak.

All eyes suddenly turned to him, and then to Harry, and it was then that Ron and Hermione made an entrance.

"Sorry we're late," babbled Hermione breathlessly, "I was in the library and lost track of time. I brought the…What the…? Harry, what's _he_ doing here?"

She had now joined the group stare, and Dale had turned a vivid shade of pink. Harry, on the other hand, was perfectly prepared for this.

"He's here because someone felt the need to discuss the DA while he was within earshot," he said, addressing the whole room with a satisfactory hint of accusation in his voice, "I've said time and time again how careful everyone has to be about mentioning it outside of meetings. Just because Umbridge is gone, it doesn't mean that we can now go blabbing about it to everyone under the sun. Dale's here so there can at least be some damage control. Even he joins so he can just come along to watch, it will stop the rest of the school from finding out."

There were silent nods around the room as the members remembered what happened to the last person who broke their code of silence. Hermione remained unconvinced.

"But Harry, he's only a first year! He won't have been taught much about duelling, or even basic defence. I don't mean to sound horrible, but what's he supposed do here if he hasn't been given any groundwork to start on?"

"Even if he just picks up a few things here and there, it's all for the good," he replied, taking a side glance at Dale, who still hadn't got to his feet, "You know as well as I do that being a first year doesn't mean you're safe from harm."

She saw that there was little point in arguing, but still wouldn't admit that Harry was in the right.

As the DA members instinctively divided up into pairs, Harry could see just how many members he had lost. Ernie Macmillan, Neville, Luna and the Creevey brothers had been among the more dedicated, but this was only to be expected. Harry had always thought that Neville in particular, despite being a little accident prone and absent minded, had been ideally placed in Gryffindor at the beginning of his magical education. There were few as brave or unquestionably loyal, and he had become a most reassuring presence.

"Erm, well…I've decided that we should make a real start on non-verbal duelling," Harry began, now that all eyes were turned expectantly to him, "Now, I realise that this will be completely new to some of you, so we'll just take it one step at a time."

The excitement in the air was almost visible. It had been a long time since the last meeting, and Harry couldn't help feeling that they all relished the opportunity to practice such spell work away from the critical eyes of Hogwarts staff. Dale was watching with undisguised curiosity.

"Now, the key behind this, for those of you who haven't covered much of it in normal defence lessons, is to focus on the words and the effect they should have. Just keep the spell locked in your mind and imagine it finding its target. So if everyone on this side of the room can try disarming those opposite them without actually speaking aloud, then…well, we'll take it from there."

Just as the group prepared to follow these instructions, Harry turned back to them.

"By the way, who's taking your normal lessons?" he enquired, realising that he had never thought to ask before.

"It's been split between Tonks and McGonagall," sighed Hermione, "Neither of them really have the time to take all the classes properly, so we sometimes have other aurors from the ministry coming in to fill the gaps."

For the first half of the lesson, Harry could hear a few strangled whispers as the students struggled to perform disarming and defensive spells by thought alone. Of those below seventh year, Ginny had managed this first, and had even succeeded in sending Hermione flying off her feet by accident. This had come as quite a shock to everyone, but Harry still wouldn't tell the others of the advantage she had.

He was exceedingly pleased at the progress being made. The group had also managed to tackle the non-verbal casting of various paralysing, summoning and levitation charms by the end of the meeting (though Harry's patience had worn thin at the boisterous levitated pillow fight that ensued).

Just as Harry finished his closing remarks to the DA, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Very impressive, Potter," smiled Professor McGonagall as she emerged from the wall, "I do hope that you consider a teaching career if you ever happen to have a change of heart about becoming an auror."

The whole room was now staring open-mouthed at the new arrival.

"Why so shocked?" she continued, "After the fiasco of Dolores Umbridge, the existence of your little organization could hardly have remained a closely guarded secret, and with the tightened security at Hogwarts, there is very little in the way of student activity that is unknown to the staff. I must admit though, I have been eagerly anticipating the sight of one of these meetings. There are others who would also voice their support for the idea, mark my words."

This seemed plain enough to accept, but Harry was still a little dazed by this revelation.

"So, did you…er…hear anything from the members themselves?" he asked, apprehensively picturing a facially disfigured student or two in the hospital wing.

"No, Potter, this was all the telling of Albus Dumbledore," she smiled, "Not having been a member himself, I'm sure he was spared whatever dire consequences were in store for imparting the information. Now, if you've quite finished, I would be most grateful if you could all return to your respective dormitories as quickly as possible."

With these words, the group remembered that this was an order from their Headmistress, and so began to file out of the room.

"Oh, and Potter," she called after them, "A most competently given lesson, but please remember that there are good reasons why we don't make a habit of teaching N.E.W.T standard defensive magic to first years. These things must be taken…how did you put it…one step at a time?"

"Yes Professor, sorry about that" he replied, somewhat embarrassed.

As McGonagall left behind them, she was confronted by a most anxious and out of breath Professor Lupin.

"Oh Professor, I'm so glad I've found you at last," Lupin gasped, "I really need to have a private word with you."

With a momentary glance at the departing DA members, she nodded and headed down the opposite flight of stairs with him. Only Harry was consciously hanging back and staring curiously after the two of them, when he heard a voice in his ear.

"I'll make sure Dale gets back to Gryffindor safely," whispered Ginny, handing him the invisibility cloak, "Just don't be too long."

Harry was confused.

"How did you…? I thought you weren't going to use your 'gift'"

"I didn't," she smiled, kissing him warmly on the cheek, "It's just a witch's intuition."

The look she gave him as she walked away sent him into the briefest of daydreams, and he almost forgot the task in hand. Shaking himself, he pulled on the cloak and crept furtively down the stairs after the two professors.

Despite being accustomed to stealthily wandering the corridors at night, Harry was not finding this an easy job. Having partially outgrown his father's cloak, he found it necessary to adopt a slightly stooping posture as he pursued Lupin and McGonagall. His efforts were further hampered by two dangerously close encounters with ministry aurors and the fact that his quarry could obviously cover ground a lot faster.

In the corridor approaching the stairs to Professor McGonagall's office, Harry finally came within earshot of them.

"Professor, this could well be time we don't _have_!" hissed Lupin.

"Look, I wish I could help, but my hands are tied," McGonagall responded, "Is there any reason to suggest that he still has valuable information to tell us?"

Lupin sighed helplessly.

"Most of his speech is confined to incoherent ramblings, but whenever he seems to focus at all, he keeps mentioning the name Fabian. None of us have any idea what he could be going on about, but if we try asking him about it, he just turns to stone again."

"Fabian?" asked the Headmistress thoughtfully.

"Yes. It sounds like he was trying to warn him about something, whoever 'he' is," Lupin went on, "I really fear that time is running out. No amount of questioning is improving matters, it's quite impossible. Why don't we get Slughorn up there and sweat the truth out of him?"

"You know perfectly well that what you propose is out of the question!" replied McGonagall sharply, "I'm getting owls from St Mungo's every week, complaining about all this interrogation as it is, and if you put that kind of pressure on his mind at this stage, it could very well kill him!"

"Look, I'm telling you…!"

Lupin was then interrupted by the sudden appearance of Mad Eye Moody, at which time Harry rapidly retreated. He had no wish to be discovered at this point, and spent the desperately careful journey back to Gryffindor house wondering if Moody had actually seen him, and about the mysterious conversation he had overheard.


	29. The Loss of Innocence

Chapter 29 – The Loss of Innocence

With all the busy comings and goings around the shopping districts of central London, there were few who took notice of any activity around Purge and Dowse Ltd, an abandoned department store that had fallen into a state of disrepair over the years. No one had really lamented its absence, and now it was simply regarded as a stretch of partially whitewashed shop window (complete with mannequins adorned with outdated fashions) that one might pass on their way to work. Inside, however, was a place that had never and would never be seen by the eyes of the muggles that crowded this way and that in the London streets. Magical folk knew this to be the location of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

As All Hallows Eve slowly drew in, there were two shadowy figures standing in the alleyway beside the shop who were grateful that so few passers-by were giving them so much as a fleeting glance.

"Well, at least he got inside then," one whispered gruffly to the other, "I still don't see why we needed to do it all like this though."

His companion was quick to reply in a broad and harsh West Country accent.

"The master seems ter reckon 'e still needs a little…persuasion. Now, if yeh wanna dispute that wiv 'im, be my guest. Personally, I'd prefer to wake up tomorrow wiv my arms and legs still intact, thank you very much. Just keep an eye out, will yeh?"

Inside the building, on the fourth floor, a young wizard called Draco Malfoy wandered towards a potion dispensary room. It would've been plain to anyone who had known him that Draco was not himself on this particular day. In all honesty, he hadn't been himself for well over a year, but now his true self was demoted to the status of visitor in his own mind. An enchantment had been placed upon him to ensure that his presence in the hospital would not be questioned, and he drifted purposefully onward, with the usual vacant expression of any who were held under the Imperius Curse.

Healers, patients, and ward assistants hurried about their business, and didn't seem to notice the boy entering the dispensary. Upon sighting the table of magical remedies, mostly daily prescriptions, his eyes flew across the small cardboard name labels that stood on each tray.

"Kastner…Keela…Mason…" he murmured quietly to himself, "Ockley…hmmm…Ollivander…"

Dwelling on this last tray, he drew a small vial of purplish black liquid from a pocket in his tattered robes and poured it into a flask of potion, where it blended seamlessly. This done, he turned and rapidly exited the room before heading for the main wards. He waited patiently, observing the movements of the assistant healers, just as the voice in his head instructed him.

With timely precision, a tray was brought from the dispensary and taken to the room where Mr Ollivander lay in a near-catatonic state. Malfoy remained at his post and listened intently.

"Someone taking over soon?" enquired the assistant's voice, "You must be tired."

"Hopefully, yes," yawned Tonks, "Don't suppose there's a bed going spare, is there?"

Malfoy heard the assistant laugh, followed by the clinking of conical flasks and the pained groaning of the patient.

"Now come on, Mr Ollivander, it's nothing you haven't had before. I know it may not be a pleasant concoction, but it's all part of your treatment."

The next few moments of quiet were a living nightmare for Draco, and unbearable, were it not for the curse that had taken hold of his mind. If his restraint had simply been physical, he was unsure as to whether he would have screamed uncontrollably, thrown up, or just wanted to run as far and as fast as he could. The small corner of his mind that he still commanded was attempting to do all three simultaneously.

There came a sickly choking sound from around the corner, and a strangled cry.

"What's wrong?" asked Tonks, a definite note of panic in her voice.

"I…I don't know," replied the assistant shakily, "It's only a simply draught to calm his waking thoughts…Falkirk!"

A healer suddenly appeared, hurrying along the corridor towards the beckoning call. Draco glanced towards Mr Ollivander's room and heard a desperate retching noise from inside. As Falkirk arrived in the doorway, he was hit with a scream and a shower of blood. All at once, there was chaos on the ward. Above the crowd of voices, through which Draco was able to determine that the patient was now deceased, rose Tonks' voice.

"Search the hospital! Don't let _anyone_ leave!"

At last, Malfoy was permitted to move. He moved quickly to the end of the corridor, the enchantment holding, to ensure that he could reach the stairs unnoticed by the hospital staff. Just as he turned the corner to make his way down to the next floor, Tonks, her eyes more highly trained than others, spotted the dark cloak heading to the staircase.

"Out of my way!" she shouted, fighting through a small group of healers.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, the cloak was out of sight, but still she continued in hard pursuit.

Malfoy was now running as fast as he could, the voice in his head navigating him to the hospital exit. His heart was pounding and his stomach was performing multiple somersaults, but on he ran, now able to hear Tonks' footsteps a little way behind him. Finally, he burst through a pair of doors into the side alley of Purge and Dowse Ltd, searched frantically around him, and lunged for a large, rusty tin can that lay a few feet away.

Tonks threw herself into the alleyway, her wand drawn, and saw the last faint flash of light as the shadowy figure disappeared, along with the portkey. She lowered her wand and let her body go almost limp as she wandered slowly back into St Mungo's Hospital. Re-entry to the hospital was usually only possible by negotiating with the mannequins that lined the shop window on the street, but arrangements had been made for Ministry staff to bypass normal procedures.

Nymphadora Tonks was exhausted in a way that she could not express in words, and was feeling nauseous at the prospect of having to explain to anyone what had just happened.

Draco opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the two Death Eaters who had assisted him on the streets of London. He was now lying on the wet sand of a beach on the coast of Whitby, and suddenly became aware of the cold air against his face. He was now back in control of himself, and did the only thing that sprang to mind. He rolled on his side and vomited heavily into the sand. The two Death Eaters did not seem to be concerned at all.

"First time, eh?" one said with an obvious hint of mockery, "Don't you worry, boy. From what I hear, ye'll have to be gettin' used to it before long. Who knows, yeh might even get a _taste_ for it!"

The two of them laughed nastily, not even bothering to help the boy to his feet.

"No," groaned Draco breathlessly, almost wishing he had the will to just take his own life right then and there.

"_No_?" the man replied in disgust, his grin having now vanished, "Let me tell you somethin'. What you just did was the work of a moment, nothin' more. You try torturin' one of yer own relatives to death in the name of the Dark Lord, _then_ ye'll 'ave somethin' ter cry about! Now listen, ye've got orders ter follow. Stay here till first light and someone'll be along to take you back ter the master. Stay out of sight and don't talk ter _nobody_, understand?"

Malfoy nodded weakly, though he had barely listened to a word. All he wanted was to see his parents, or even Snape. Above all, he couldn't help wishing that he was someone else and somewhere else. He watched the Death Eaters disapparate, then collapsed back into the sand. This had been a bad day in his life, and probably the worst way he could imagine spending Halloween.

After a few minutes, he staggered upright and began to walk. He didn't particularly care where he was going, since he didn't really know where he was anyway. Breathing in several lungs full of salty air, he turned his back on the sea, and noticed the glimmer of firelight emanating from the other side of a nearby rock face. The prospect of warmth at that moment was very inviting, but Malfoy was faced with a dilemma. Fire would almost certainly mean people, and he hardly wanted to draw attention to himself, but then again, using magic to create a fire of his own could attract even more attention. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice that came out of the growing darkness, somewhere nearer the fire.

"You alright there, mate?"

He turned sharply towards this new arrival, a voice surrounded by long sleek black hair and a full-length leather coat.

"What…?" he replied distractedly, "Oh…yes…yes, I'm fine. Just…waiting for someone."

As Malfoy drifted a little more into the light, the stranger was able to study him properly. He flicked a tail of ash from the cigarette that hung limply between his fingers and, after a pause, continued.

"You sure about that?" he enquired.

"What do you mean?" replied Malfoy, suddenly disgusted that he had been drawn into speaking even a handful of words to a muggle.

"I mean that what you say and what I see appear to be two very different things." the stranger said, exhaling a stream of smoke into the light sea breeze.

This was already becoming an annoying conversation to the boy.

"I said I was alright!" complained Malfoy, turning his head back to the darkness.

The stranger remained undeterred.

"And what I _see_ is a bloke who looks like death warmed up," he replied calmly, noting that the boy still hadn't walked away to be 'alright' on his own, "Speaking of which, you look like you could use a drink as well. Why don't you come back here and warm yourself up? I'm just here with a few friends and a few bottles if you're interested."

Malfoy's eyes returned to the stranger and considered this. He definitely couldn't face solitude. He wished more than ever that he could be with his parents, or anyone who could understand and sympathise with his plight. As this was currently impossible, maybe the next best thing would be the company of those who couldn't possibly comprehend the situation, even if he felt inclined to explain it. With only the slightest change of expression, he followed the stranger.

"What's your name?" asked the leather coat as he led the way.

"Draco" the boy replied, having neither the strength nor imagination to provide a more creative answer.

"Well, pleased to meet you, Draco. I'm Danny."

As they turned the corner of the rock face, Draco's eyes fell upon a group of five muggles sitting around a fire, immersed in conversation. His family had avoided all association with muggles whenever possible, but Draco could tell that these were not dressed as most of them tended to be. They all looked up as the new arrivals approached.

"About bloody time too!" exclaimed a pale faced youth from underneath a forest of shocking blue spiky hair and eyeliner, "We've been dying of thirst here!"

It was at that moment that Draco noticed Danny had been carrying a square edged bottle. By the light of the fire, he read the words 'Jack Daniels Tenessee Bourbon Whiskey' on the label. The party of five seemed to be studying his every movement, and Danny felt that introductions were in order.

"Alright, everyone, this is Draco, a lad who is in serious need of some liquid refreshment," he declared as he broke the seal on the bottle and indicated each of his companions in turn, "Draco, this is Nicky, Liz, Paul, and Damien."

Each of them raised a hand or nodded in greeting, and Danny then pointed to a very attractive girl sitting at the far edge of the fire. Draco was already struck by her appearance.

"And the lovely lady over there is Rachel,"

The girl in question was partly hidden behind a long curtain of bright blond hair. Her face was pale, yet radiant, and like her companions, she seemed to favour the colour black from the shoulders down. One blue eye looked shyly out towards the two of them, and it shone in the fire's reflection in a way that really made Malfoy's glance linger.

"We sometimes call her Glinda," cut in Liz, a girl with shoulder length black dreadlocks and haphazard streaks of eye make-up across her face, "because she's always so into her witchcraft and stuff."

"She's a witch?" Malfoy asked hopefully, turning at last to the other faces.

Rachel lowered her eyes hastily back to the flames that licked and crackled in front of her.

"Could be, for all we know," shrugged Damien, a skin-headed youth with a menacing yet friendly look about him.

Draco quietly sighed with disappointment as he reflected that muggles could hardly have reliable judgement in such matters.

"Why don't you let her tell you all about it?" said Danny, gesturing towards the space on the ground beside Rachel, "Have a seat."

As he slowly sat down on the sand, Draco couldn't help but imagine what his parents, or indeed any relative of his, would have to say about his present situation. He was effectively in another world, sitting in peaceful commune with a group of muggles. Muggles! His conduct was without doubt a disgrace to the family name. It was only when he got to wondering what had now become of his parents that this train of thought became too painful. Thankfully, he was then shaken by a sudden noise that appeared to originate from a large, curious looking box that lay opposite him. After taking a few seconds to compose himself, he could only conclude that this noise was muggle…'music'.

For centuries, despite the enormous differences between the worlds of muggles and magical folk, music was one thing that would mark certain similarities. Muggle music, although being simply another part of their culture that was looked down upon, would always leave an influence on the magical world. It was only when muggles began to make recordings of their music in the late nineteenth century that witches and wizards became rigorously selective about how this would influence their lives, and the modern muggle idea of 'music' that Draco was now hearing seemed completely alien to anything he had heard before.

As he attempted to adjust his ears to the sound, he found that the singer, singing in a very deep and melancholy voice, was describing the violent and tragic death of an unfaithful lover. The noises that accompanied this, however, were utterly beyond his understanding. The words of the song were not of the greatest comfort to Draco, and difficult as it would be, he decided that conversation would be the only way to go.

"So, you're…erm…interested in witchcraft?" he asked Rachel shakily.

Her reply was equally nervous.

"Well, yes," she said, turning to look at him properly, "It's mostly based on pagan ideas and various spell books that I've picked up."

"What kind of…spell books?" he asked suspiciously.

She reached into a bag beside her and brought out a large, leather-bound book with a golden pentagram on the front, and handed it to him. As he flicked through the first few pages of names, facts, and static illustrations, Draco felt a slight sense of relief. It was as he suspected. This was not a book of magical creation, and most certainly not an item to be found in Flourish & Blott's. Now that the initial shock was over with, he continued to flick through the pages to explore how muggles appeared to define 'magic'. He could scarcely contain his amusement as he observed the countless inaccuracies in the descriptions of magical law, the spells that couldn't possibly work, and the wild tales of magical artefacts that were about as far from the truth as Draco had ever heard. A certain portion of smug superiority returned to him as he lifted his head to look back at Rachel, which was immediately snuffed out when he saw the look on her face.

She displayed evident pride in this so-called 'witchcraft', and was, for some reason, seeking Malfoy's approval. He quickly turned his smile to a studious frown.

"Very…uh, interesting," he finally remarked.

"I somehow had a feeling that you'd appreciate it," she said, quite relieved, "Not like these sceptics."

There followed a Mexican wave of eye rolling amongst the group.

"Oh, here we go again," Damien groaned, "Time to cross her palm with silver."

Noticing the puzzled look on Malfoy's face, Danny explained.

"This is usually about the time that Rachel starts to harp on about her psychic powers," he smiled, "None of us are sure what to make of it all, but oddly enough there have been times when she's been pretty convincing."

The bottle of whiskey had now found its way into Malfoy's hand, and he sniffed it suspiciously. This was almost certainly more potent than the wares that he had tried at the Three Broomsticks.

"Go ahead, get some medicine down you," gestured Liz.

With a small degree of apprehension, he raised the bottle to his lips and took in a mouthful of the brownish clear liquid. What he felt in his throat was not entirely unlike the fire that burned in front of him. He grimaced a little, but was determined not to be overcome by a drink of muggles. His face glowed and for the first time in months, some colour returned to his cheeks. After shaking himself, he passed the bottle on to Rachel who calmly took a swig and sent it on its way, although she still winced at the strong flavour.

Malfoy contented himself for a few minutes in listening to the conversations of the group. From what he could tell, they had gathered here for some kind of annual event, a celebration of some sort perhaps, that was well placed around Halloween time. He became curious as he heard the same word cropping up over and over again. His tongue had been loosened a little by another two circulations of the bottle, and he decided that his curiosity needed to be satisfied.

"Erm, excuse me," he said, turning back to Rachel, "but who or…what…are 'Goths'?"

There was a silence around the fire, while everyone regarded Draco with surprise.

"Well…" began Rachel finally, "_We_ are Goths."

After another pause, she elaborated on this point.

"I suppose you could tell a Goth by the music they listen to or the way they dress," she explained, "This music is Goth…Actually…we were all sort of under the impression _you_ were a Goth. Y'know…pale complexion, black robes and all…"

This raised a nervous laugh from Nicky, Liz and Paul.

"I thought you were up here for the Whitby Goth Weekend, like everyone else here," Danny remarked.

This was making Draco a little uncomfortable. The ice was broken at last by Rachel.

"Hey, who gives a rat's arse if he's not a Goth? I quite like him…"

As the rest of them turned away to wipe the subtle smiles of amusement off their faces, Draco struggled to repress his own feelings which were somewhere between embarrassment and flattery, and decided that now would be a good time to change the subject.

"So, what are these, err…psychic powers?" he asked her.

"Don't encourage her, mate," put in Damien, but Rachel was smiling now and chose to ignore this last comment.

"Well, I suppose it's just feelings I get from people and objects. Sometimes I can tell things about a person's past or if I'm very lucky, their future."

"Ah yes," snorted Danny sceptically, "I remember when you tried that on me. Don't remember you being too accurate though…"

Rachel shook her head.

"I remember telling you that you wouldn't get any extra cash from your parents when you came up here, and I remember telling you that it would be a bad idea to rent such a small cottage for the six of us, so you can't tell me I was wrong there," she replied, without shifting her eyes from Draco, "And in the immediate future, my inner eye sees you passing me the whiskey and keeping your mouth shut."

After taking another gulp from the bottle, she took Draco's hand and began to look deeply into his eyes.

"Now, let me see…" she said, in a slightly far-away voice.

The idea that a muggle could harbour the powers of a Legilimens was utterly absurd, so Malfoy let his guard down, and was content to simply allow Rachel to have her harmless fun.

"You feel guilty about something…something you have done wrong…"

This was strangely unnerving, given that he had committed murder that very night. He may have been under the complete mental control of another, but there would be few, even among those who could understand how such a thing was possible, who would take his side.

"You seem to have taken a wrong turn in your life," she continued, gently stroking the back of his hand and maintaining her piercing stare, "and I think…I think you've tried blaming others…"

Malfoy felt this was still pure guesswork, but found himself reflecting on just how his life _had_ gone wrong. Yes, he had murdered Mr Ollivander, a wand-making legend in the wizarding world; this he could pin on the one who had controlled him. It certainly wasn't something he would have done under normal circumstances, but then again, whose fault was it that he had been in the service of Lord Voldemort in the first place? No, he told himself, the only reason he had agreed to that was to save his parents. His parents. Were _the_y to blame? It was very possible that had his father not been arrested at the Ministry, Voldemort would have had no reason to call upon him.

But wait…whose fault was it that his father been arrested? Whose fault was it that his father had been there at all? Why had the Dark Lord needed his servants there? From whatever angle of thought he used, he came up with the same name over and over again. Harry Potter. Was he to blame for all this? The more he thought about it, as much as he despised Harry, he couldn't help but admit that there were flaws in this theory. It was nearer the truth to say that the war was to blame, and Malfoy was just caught in the middle.

The truth itself then hit him. Harry Potter, as contemptible as he was, had most certainly not started the war. Malfoy had always stood by his beliefs of a pure-blooded ideal, but those ideas, instilled in him by his family, were what had landed him under the heel of Voldemort. He was in harm's way, and was questioning his decisions and actions. Just how worthwhile was the cause? And how much of it was _his_ fault?

His thoughts drifted back to the present, and he at last heard reassuring words from Rachel as she continued her psychic reading.

"I feel that things are not so hopeless as you think," she smiled, "You are unsure of so much, but I believe you will know what to do when it matters most."

Although Rachel couldn't haven't the faintest idea of what these words would mean to Malfoy, he had to admit that she had good intuition for a muggle. He found comfort in the way she looked at him. She couldn't know what he had been through, but he got the feeling that she would still be sympathetic if she did, and now her expression changed as she attempted to look deeper within him.

"There is something else I see in you," she continued, in a voice that drifted still further into the clouds, "I'm just getting a strange feeling…"

Malfoy felt something stir inside him as he looked back at her. She was so much more innocent than she realised, and so far removed from the ideas he had had about muggles. For the first time, he did not feel so high above his company.

"I feel…I feel…" she began, her voice descending almost into a whisper and her eyes looking lost and confused.

"A little drunk perhaps?" suggested Damien, backing away quickly to avoid an irate swipe of her hand.

Rachel turned on him to emphasise her annoyance, then returned apologetically to Malfoy.

"Listen, we're all heading back up to the cottage," Damien said, pulling on his coat, "It's getting a bit cold for us southern folk out here."

The rest of them stood up and brushed off patches of sand as they prepared to leave, but Rachel showed no intention of leaving with them.

"Don't be too late," smiled Liz as they turned to go, "Don't want you freezing to death."

"I'll be fine," she replied, "Don't wait up."

As the five of them stomped away from the fireside, Danny examined the whiskey bottle once again.

"Am I going mad, or was this bottle nearly empty a moment ago?"

Malfoy smiled to himself and drew his wand further inside the sleeve of his robes.

For reasons that neither of them could explain, all conversation seemed to die out completely now that they were alone. They both stared at the fire, occasionally glancing at each other when they felt brave enough. Malfoy knew that he had very little time left with this strange muggle girl, and after several minutes of silence, broken only by the sea breeze and the crackle of the flames before them, he decided that he would make the most of it. The Ministry could do as they pleased. His life was already in danger, and there was nothing to be lost by throwing caution to the wind.

"Rachel," he said finally.

"Yes?" she said quickly, looking up suddenly from the fire as if she had been desperately longing to hear his voice again.

"You really like magic, don't you?"

"Well, yes," she said, looking strangely despondent, "I just wish it felt more real, like it's supposed to. Maybe the days are gone when there was enough belief around for it to really work properly."

Malfoy smiled.

"It's all real, Rachel. People just don't look in the right places."

Rachel smiled warmly back at him.

"I'd be a lot happier if it was that simple," she sighed, "Don't get me wrong, it's something I look for every day."

There followed a moment of silence, during which Malfoy cautiously slid his wand out from his sleeve.

"And what if you actually found it?" he enquired, as Rachel gazed curiously at the smooth wooden object in his hand.

"A…wand?" she said slowly, "I hate to tell you this, Draco, but thus far, wand magic is just something I've read about in stories."

"So is every other kind of magic, from what I can tell," he replied with a kindly hint of sarcasm, "but why should that stop you believing?"

She just stared at him, unsure if she should feel insulted or not.

"Tell me, Rachel, what's your favourite colour?"

"Green," she replied, somewhat confused by this new line of questioning.

Without a word, Malfoy flicked his wand in the direction of the fire. The flames then turned a deep and vivid shade of green. As the blaze grew higher, a large serpent of flame appeared to rise from the middle of it and hiss a thin trail of fire into the air. The serpent slowly recoiled, and the fire returned to its normal state.

Rachel had fallen backwards in shock, and for a few moments all she could do was gasp. After a string of breathless obscenities, she got up on her knees, steadying herself against the ground with one hand, and finally looked back at Malfoy.

"You…!" she began, still drawing in huge lungs full of air, "You…can…_real_ magic…it's impossible!"

Draco was starting to get a little concerned that the girl would become hysterical, and the last thing he wanted to do was put a sleeping charm on her. He hastened to explain.

"Rachel, calm down, please," he said in the most gentlemanly way he could manage, "Don't be scared, I'm not going to hurt you. Just think of it as one of your stories coming true."

"But Draco, I…you…how?" she blurted out, before he could elaborate on this.

"It's a matter of having magic in the blood," he said, with a clear note of pride as he remembered his pure-blood heritage, "Beyond that, I'm afraid, there's not a lot I could tell you. It's of the utmost importance that my world remains a closely guarded secret from yours."

Rachel sat back down and cradled her head in her hands as she struggled to make sense of it all.

"I understand if this comes as a bit of a shock," said Draco quietly.

"To say the least," she replied, almost laughing at how insane things seemed and wondering if someone had drugged the whiskey bottle.

Another deadly hush filled the air, while both of them tried to imagine what question she would ask first, and after a few seconds, she surprised herself _and_ Draco.

"What other magic can you do?" she asked simply with a smile.

After a brief look around him, Draco found a pebble on the sand and transfigured it into a single red rose. Rachel blushed as he handed it to her, and was so delighted, she could barely contain herself. There was still so much she wanted to know but was somehow reluctant to ask in case this was all a dream. In the meantime, there was a truth with which Draco had been struggling.

"I feel I should warn you," he said, taking a long, deep breath, "It's very possible that you will remember nothing about this when you wake up in the morning. It all depends on what the Ministry of Magic decide to do. You must understand that no wizard or witch can perform magic of any kind in the presence of mu…err…non-magical folk. The only exception is family. It _must_ all be kept secret, in fact I'm surprised they haven't already arrested me thirty seconds ago."

"I promise I won't tell a soul," she assured him, "but how would they…?"

"Trust me, they know about it," he cut in, shuddering slightly, "It's not something they just let you get away with. The only reason I can think of for there not being so much as an owl in sight is that they are in too much trouble to bother with me."

Rachel nodded in what she hoped was an understanding manner, even though she was still trying to get her head around what the Ministry of Magic was. As they talked, Malfoy giving one fascinating answer after another, there was a question that had managed to fight its way to the front of her mind.

"But after all the time that magic has existed, why isn't there a way for everyone to know about it and accept it? The world's changed a lot since the witchcraft trials."

"It's all very complicated," he replied, finding her look of innocence strangely endearing, "Imagine that our worlds are like two mice in a cage. Each sees a mouse when they look at each other, but both believe themselves to be a cat staring down at their prey."

"And nobody wants to be lower down in the food chain…" she said, grasping at least a little of what he was trying to say.

"Exactly," he smiled lazily, "The laws of secrecy are all there for a good reason. Not everyone is as open-minded as you are and…what are you looking at me like that for?"

Rachel wore an expression of simple joy, and looked as if the very sight of a wizard was enough for her.

"Oh…it's nothing," she began, "I've just never had a magical friend before."

This was enough to break Draco completely, enough to shatter every weapon in his armoury. It struck him at the core and brought a great personal truth to his attention. No one, to his recollection at least, had ever referred to him as a 'friend'. Even Crabb and Goyle, his most faithful companions had never used the term directly. They were more like simple acquaintances, trusted comrades who were united by their families' loyalties to the dark arts. It was all too much for him.

He turned away and hid his face, angered that a muggle had dragged such emotion out of him and fighting back any betrayal of it. Rachel leant over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, have I upset you?" she whispered, wondering what might happen if she upset a real wizard.

"No," he replied, swallowing hard and turning his attention back to the fire, "Rachel, I can't be here much longer. Someone will be looking for me soon, and I must be alone when they find me."

Rachel found it hard to hide her disappointment and clung to him for a moment.

"Well…will I ever see you again?" she asked nervously, "For some reason, I don't picture you having a phone number or an e-mail address."

Draco went quiet and continued to stare deep into the flames.

"I…I honestly don't know," he said finally.

Rachel blinked a few times and stifled a yawn as she felt the effects of a subtle sleeping charm.

"Look, you'd better be getting inside," he said, with growing concern in his voice.

She shook her head sleepily and smiled.

"I want to stay out here with you."

These were the last words he heard from her. He had just enough time to conjure a feather pillow for her before she slumped sideways on to the ground. Pulling her coat over her as best he could, Draco watched the strange muggle girl as she slept. He couldn't let anything happen to her and as he pondered this, he remembered that he had to get away. Pulling himself slowly to his feet, he took one last look at Rachel and turned in the direction of where he had first appeared on the beach.

As if released from a powerful spell, he suddenly felt furious with himself. She was a muggle, a parasite who had managed to distract him! He was a wizard of a pure bloodline, a superior amongst his own kind and one from a highly respected family. He couldn't be seen mixing with such inferiors! This was something of which he only managed to convince himself for a few seconds before the truth came back to haunt him. His parents had both been named as supporters of the Dark Lord, disgraced by the Ministry of Magic. His father was in prison, his mother was most likely in hiding, and he himself was a murderer.

It was then that he realised that he was barely in a position to judge even the lowliest of muggles. And this one had called him a friend.

Finding a bare patch of sand in the shadow of the rock face, he lay on his back and gazed up at the stars, hoping that once he fell asleep, he would wake up in a better place. He closed his eyes for what seemed to be only a minute before the first clear rays of sunlight shone on his face.

The first sensation he felt was a powerful stare above him. Shaking himself to awaken properly, he saw the dark and menacing figure of Severus Snape looking down at him. The look on his former potions master's face was, however, more pitying and helpless than anything else.

"I came as soon as I heard," he said as calmly as possible, "I'm sorry, Malfoy. It would seem that I failed you. Had I known that this was his plan for you, I would have been able to act accordingly, but the Dark Lord is insistent that I have my own particular part to play."

Malfoy was unsure as to how to reply to this, but his first instinct was to walk to the edge of the rock face and glance at the sleeping Rachel in the distance. Snape followed his every movement and gave him a stern raised eyebrow before narrowing his eyes at the boy suspiciously. A few moments later, he simply gave the boy an impatient look and spoke slowly and seriously as he restrained his evident annoyance.

"I won't even bother asking," he said, with a heavy emphasis on each syllable, "I need to take you to our lord and master, who greatly desires to speak to you. It would be in both our interests if you spent the next few minutes focusing your mind, for now would not be the best of times to…disappoint him."

He took a firm hold of Malfoy's arm and the two of them disappeared into thin air.

An hour or so later, Rachel awoke from a succession of the strangest dreams she had ever had. She was alone on the beach, and the fire beside her was now reduced to a few wisps of smoke escaping from the powdery grey embers. Rubbing her eyes and questioning the presence of the pillow beneath her head, she found her fingers coiled around a strange ragged piece of parchment. As she unfolded it, her eyes adjusted to read the smooth, almost sophisticated italic hand:

"My dearest Rachel,

If I am still alive, I will be here same time, same place next year. Please tell no one.

Your magical friend,

Draco Malfoy" 

A moment after she had finished reading this, the parchment instantly dissolved into a pile of ashes in her hand, and was carried away with the wind.


	30. Remember the Fallen

Chapter 30 – Remember The Fallen

It was a congregation of heavy hearts, as well as a few heavy consciences, who mourned the passing of the wand maker. The attendants from the wizarding community were gathered in a windy field within sight of the village of Hogsmeade on a late November morning. Had Mr Ollivander's tragic death occurred some three years before, the field would have most likely been populated with every witch or wizard who had ever entered his shop in Diagon Alley, but fear had now left its mark.

Fellow shopkeepers, staff and pupils of Hogwarts, and various members of their families stood in silence near the large oak coffin that held the late craftsman. The manner in which the poison had hideously damaged his features had made it necessary for the casket to remain sealed, much to the distress of his surviving relatives. Ministry representatives were gathered on the opposite side, and were very aware of the frosty glances being levelled at them, particularly from a mother who stood with her husband and six children huddled closely around her.

Mrs Weasley and her family were taking this time not only to remember Ollivander, but to grieve for the death of her third son, Percy, which the Ministry had described simply as 'a regrettable incident' in their modest letter of condolence. Respecting the sentiment of a family in mourning, Harry, Hermione and Fleur stood apart from the group and watched various witches and wizards lay decorative tributes on the coffin. A cousin of Ollivander was addressing the crowd, speaking of the wand maker in terms to which few of them could relate, but Harry knew that the dead man's legacy resided within the robe pockets of practically every one of them.

When the last word had been said, they all stood in silence, looking solemnly downwards. Rufus Scrimgeour was the first to move, walking slowly away from the gathering and followed by his aids and fellow officials. As many followed suit, Harry distinctly heard the words "You know, this could look very bad for the ministry…" as Scrimgeour passed by him, and he felt a sudden anger boiling up inside him that anyone's greatest concern on a day like this was bad publicity. His wand was even halfway out of his pocket when a hand shot out from behind and grabbed his arm.

"Leave it alone, boy," came the gruff whisper of Mad-Eye Moody, "Believe me, I'm just as sorely tempted as you, but this is neither the time nor the place to be hexing the high and mighty."

Harry's shoulders sunk in resignation, and he turned regretfully to join his fellow pupils as they walked back in the direction of the village. Mrs Weasley stopped him as he went to catch up with Ron and Hermione. She looked at him in silence for a moment as her eyes wandered around his forehead, which today appeared to look much like anyone else's.

"Harry, you do realise that transfiguration spells like that are what witches use to conceal unsightly blemishes," she remarked, though no trace of a smile was visible.

"Well, that was the idea," Harry shrugged, "A day like today is bad enough without everyone gawping at that stupid scar. It's a funeral, not a freak show."

Mrs Weasley sighed and shook her head.

"You really don't understand, do you? People used to stare at your scar because you were The Boy Who Lived. Now they stare because the sight of it gives them hope. The fact that you're even still alive is a comfort to all of us. What I see before me is _not_ the wizard of my daughter's dreams."

Harry couldn't rightly argue with this. He slouched glumly, then drew his wand and pointed it at his forehead. A fine, deep red line emerged from under his fringe and snaked into the shape of the lightning bolt-shaped scar he had worn since he was a baby.

"Much better," she said, smiling at last.

The main topic of conversation in the Gryffindor common room that night was the impending results of the OWL exams. Although Harry was hardly in the mood for socialising, he could understand why everyone needed a distraction. As Ginny had sloped off to bed early, he decided to do the same, much to the disappointment of the Larkin twins, who delighted in gazing at him from across the room and giggling whenever he looked over in their direction. To his surprise, he found Ron in the dormitory already.

"Bit of an early night for you, isn't it?" he remarked as Ron looked up.

"I'm just not feeling too good at the moment," Ron casually replied, giving the first honest emotion Harry had seen all evening.

"Look, Ron, I'm really sorry about what happened to Percy and everything. It must be horrible for you."

Ron looked back at him with mild surprise.

"It's not your fault, mate, you've got nothing to apologise for," he said firmly, "Did my mum give you a hard time about it?"

"No, but I'd understand if she did. She's upset, just like all of us," replied Harry.

His friend gave an exasperated roll of his eyes and sighed.

"Harry, I know you've been through a lot and I know there's plenty more to face, but when are you going to realise that the weight of the entire world does _not_ rest on your shoulders?"

Harry gave him an appreciative smile. As frustrating as Ron could be at times, Harry had always been glad to have him as a friend. In the quiet that followed, they heard the sound of breathy sleep from Dale's bed.

"Strange little bloke, that one," whispered Ron, nodding towards Dale.

"Someone else who's been through a lot too," said Harry thoughtfully, noting for the first time that Dale had barely unpacked any of what few possessions he had.

After a short while, Harry spoke again.

"Listen, do you mind if I get some sleep? I just don't want to have to think about anything more today."

"Know how you feel, mate," agreed Ron quickly.

As Harry climbed into his bed, he couldn't help dreading the prospect of what his dreams had in store for him. He simply wanted blankness from the moment he closed his eyes, and was desperately focusing his mind as he did in his Occlumency lessons. Today had been a bad day, he told himself. The last thing he needed was a bad night as well.

The slumber of the Gryffindor dormitories was broken by a series of piercing screams in the early hours of the morning. Harry suddenly awoke and instinctively reached for his wand. Wherever the commotion was coming from, it was not in this room. But near. Very near. When he emerged from his bed, Ron, Seamus and Neville had all risen from theirs as well, and were equally determined to find the cause of the disturbance. As they reached the common room, they were greeted by the Larkin twins, both hysterical and clinging to one another in fright. As Seamus attempted to calm them down, Harry and Ron looked all around, trying to understand what could have possibly frightened them so much.

"What the hell's going on?!" shouted Ron over the loud whimpering of the twins.

Katrina Larkin, still petrified and inarticulate, extended a shaky arm and simply pointed to the stairs that led to the girls' dormitory. Harry thought it best to restore some order.

"Neville, go and find McGonagall, Seamus, look after these two. Ron, come with me."

"Why do I get stuck being the babysitter?" Seamus protested.

"It's not babysitting, it's defence," replied Harry, "Imagine what could have scared them like this. We can't just leave them alone."

"I didn't hear _you_ volunteering," muttered Seamus bitterly.

But Harry was already storming towards the stairs.

"Don't worry," called back Ron with a smile, "Just give them a warm blanket and read them a story. I'm sure you'll be their friend for life."

As the two of them ascended the staircase, they came across several third and fourth year girls with wands at the ready, though only marginally less frightened than the twins. Further on was Luna Lovegood, who joined Harry and Ron on their way up.

"What's happened?" Ron whispered to her, over the sound of a desperate scurrying from just above them.

Just as she opened her mouth to answer, they heard what was unmistakeably Hermione's voice, although for the first time it was a shriek that sent a searing chill down their spines.

"CROOKSHANKS!"

Harry wasted no more time, and ran up the last few stairs with Ron and Luna close behind. For a moment, he couldn't believe the scene that met his eyes as he burst in through the door. Hermione was wailing helplessly over her cat that lay on the floor in an injured state. A large patch of his fur was hanging off exposing badly torn flesh that bled relentlessly into a puddle on the floor, and all he could manage was wheezy, panic-stricken breaths.

Although Hermione barely noticed Harry standing in the doorway, their heads turned in unison to the opposite corner of the room, at which point Harry's eyes opened even wider in shock. Ginny was sitting in the corner, shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes stared straight ahead in sheer terror and her hair was positively wild. A stream of crimson blood seeped from between her lips, coating her jaw and heavily staining her nightdress. Harry shook his head quickly, thinking this may possibly have been a terrible nightmare.

"YOU!" screamed Hermione, rising to her feet, "HOW COULD YOU!? LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU VICIOUS, EVIL LITTLE…!"

"HERMIONE!" shouted Harry, finding his voice at last as Ron and Luna physically restrained her from launching across the room, "Look at me! Look…at…me! I know how upsetting this must be for you, but I need you to listen to me. Take Crookshanks along to Hagrid as fast as you can."

"But…!" she began.

"Hermione, listen!" he snapped back at her, "I know how you must feel, but you have to realise that your cat doesn't have time for that! Ron, go with her."

"What about Ginny?" replied Ron, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other.

"I'll stay with her, and McGonagall should be here soon. Just get them to Hagrid, now!"

With one last stare of burning hatred at Ginny, Hermione pulled on a sweater and slippers, gathered Crookshanks carefully up in her arms and followed Ron down the stairs. Taking a brief look around the room, Harry noticed that there were still some other girls present, either taking cover behind their beds or desperately pretending they were still asleep. Ginny was oblivious to everything around her, and seemed as though she might explode with the slightest provocation. He was, therefore, approaching her with extreme caution.

"Ginny?" he said quietly, "It's me…Harry."

There was no response and not a single flicker of recognition.

"Ginny, I need you to tell me what happened."

The next voice he heard was not Ginny's, but that of the Headmistress behind him.

"I believe it would be for the best if you were to go to my study and wait for me there, Potter."

The furious argument she expected never arrived. Instead, Harry calmly turned around and addressed her with a deep sadness in his voice.

"What's happened to her?"

"That is something I can only find out when I have spoken to Miss Weasley alone. I don't mean to imply that you have no right to know, but we can't risk your emotional involvement clouding the issue. It is because of your feelings that I'm asking you just to step back for the moment."

Harry simply looked from Ginny to the Professor. He was even surprising himself at the mature attitude he was taking.

"You will let me know when I can see her, won't you?"

"Of course," she smiled.

Sitting in the Headmistress's study, Harry gazed around the room for anything that might distract his thoughts. His eyes wandered over the late headmasters who slept peacefully in their portrait frames, getting the distinct impression that there would be one of them at least who was wide awake. This time, he didn't even turn around when his suspicions were confirmed.

"You look troubled, Harry," remarked Professor Dumbledore from a frame high up on the wall.

"That's funny, I'd been wondering that myself," Harry muttered without looking up, "It might just be stress from my hectic daily timetable. Maybe I'm coming down with something, because after all, there does seem to be a nasty chill in the air."

The ghostly image of the old man was already smiling and shaking his head.

"Then again," he continued in a confiding voice, his head lifting to meet the eyes of the Professor, "There's a chance that it has something to do with the fact that, on top of everything else, the man who made my wand is dead and I've fallen in love with a girl who appears to have taken to butchering cats. Tell me, is this just something every young wizard goes through when they come of age?"

"Your life has been unique," Dumbledore replied, adopting a more serious demeanour, "and will continue to be so. Indeed, you are not simply struggling with the normal trials of life. Ollivander was certainly a terrible loss to our world, but surely this should only serve to strengthen your resolve. As for Miss Weasley, she is a young lady with many troubles, but if you would prefer to walk away from her rather than understand, then I can only say that you are not half the wizard I believed you to be."

Harry still felt a little strange being shocked and offended by the tone of a dead person.

"You know I wouldn't do something like that," he responded.

"Yes, Harry, I know,"

The more Harry thought about it, the stranger and emptier Hogwarts felt without the physical presence of Albus Dumbledore. That one wizard had managed to make so many others feel safe was testament enough of how sorely he was missed. If the Daily Prophet was to be believed, this was going to be Harry's responsibility, and to say the least, he didn't quite feel up to it. Right now, there was only one thing he wanted.

"Professor, I was wondering if you could do something for me…" he ventured.

"That depends on whether it involves any heavy lifting," smiled Dumbledore.

Harry paused sadly, looking down at the floor as he finally spoke.

"Can you find out if Ginny's alright? I'm sorry, but I can't go one more minute without knowing, not after what I saw."

There was a silence, during which he contemplated in horror what may have happened to the poor girl, and wondered why Dumbledore was taking so long to answer his request. By the time he looked up, the old headmaster had disappeared from his frame. Harry was just on the point of calling out to him, when the man himself returned.

"I am pleased to be able to tell you that Miss Weasley is in the very capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, under the observation of Professor McGonagall. There has always been a conveniently placed vacant portrait frame in the hospital wing that you may well have overlooked during your numerous visits there."

He continued just as Harry had opened his mouth to speak.

"And might I imagine that your next question would pertain to any conversation I may have overheard? Sorry to disappoint you, but I believe your involvement should be left to the discretion of your Headmistress, for the moment at least."

Harry could only nod in silent resignation, but the professor was quite taken aback.

"What, no anger or passionate outrage? Could this be the Harry Potter I once knew?"

"That's a fair enough comment," Harry smiled weakly, "but I've come to realise that there are a lot of things that I just have to accept, and a lot of things that are more important. For instance, all that matters at this moment is that she's safe."

A solemn moment of silence followed, as Dumbledore looked proudly down upon the young wizard.

"That, Harry, is a lesson that even some of the oldest and wisest folk of our world have yet to learn. I believe you have now quite surpassed the reputation you were given, and I can't tell how dearly I wish I was alive to see it. I believe your prophecy is something you should cherish, not fear."

The old man's eyes twinkled with pride, and Harry felt a few of his doubts disappear. To be told this by the greatest of all wizards was something that no number of galleons could buy.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "at the risk of being interrupted, I have the feeling that my successor will be returning shortly."

"How do you know?" replied Harry in suddenly hushed tones, looking cautiously behind him.

"Ah, the subtle whisperings between the portraits that line the halls and corridors can be most informative," the old man grinned, before giving Harry a wink and closing his eyes once again.

Professor McGonagall's footsteps could indeed be heard outside, and Harry turned his chair around to meet her just as the door swung open. She acknowledged him with a polite nod and made her way slowly across the room. There was something distracted about her manner that led him to believe that all was not well.

"Professor?" said Harry at last; prompting the Headmistress's more focused attention, "Is she alright?"

"She will be eventually," she replied after a pause, "That's all I can say for certain. Potter, please believe that I'm not trying to hide anything from you. Just like you, Miss Weasley has certain trials that she must face on her own, and it's something you must both come to terms with."

As much as he wanted to appreciate this, Harry knew he couldn't rest until he heard the truth from Ginny.

"But when can I see her?" he demanded fervently.

"She's getting some much needed sleep at the moment, which is precisely what I would recommend for you," replied McGonagall, sitting wearily down behind her desk, "Ask Madame Pomfrey in the morning."

Although he knew that getting a satisfactory answer would be just about impossible, he took one last stab at it before leaving the study. It was a question that both of them knew he wouldn't ignore, and somewhere inside, both of them knew the answer with which he would have to content himself.

"Professor, what's wrong with her?"

The old witch smiled kindly at him, wishing dearly that she could be of more help.

"That is something that only she can tell you, if and when she is ready," she replied, "For now, you must let her face her decisions in her own time. It may not be what you want to hear, but it's not something she chose to go through either."

Harry's spirits felt well and truly crushed, and he couldn't help agreeing with the Headmistress that at the moment, sleep, or at least his best attempt at it, was the only solution.

Upon stepping through the portrait hole, his first encounter was with Ron, who looked as though this particular night had caused him more trouble than he could stand. He addressed Harry in lowered tones he could well have used when venting his frustration to a brick wall.

"Not a word! Unbelievable!" he began, leaving Harry's mind sprinting to catch up with a conversation that seemed to be halfway through already, "From the moment we left Hagrid's…not a bloody word! I try to comfort her and what do I get? A cold shoulder and eyes like daggers, that's what! I know she's upset and everything, but what the hell did I do?"

He motioned towards Hermione who was standing near the fireplace with her back to them.

"Now I think she's pretending I'm not here," he continued, lowering his voice further, "Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

Harry smiled to himself. This wasn't the first time he had needed to make the peace between the two of them, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

"Tell you what mate, why don't you head on upstairs and I'll do what I can," he offered.

"You're a good friend, Harry," Ron replied, thinking that anything allowing him to escape Hermione's wrath simply had to be a splendid idea, "Any time you fancy another bottle of firewhiskey, just let me know."

So saying, he edged across the room and scampered up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the common room. There was every possibility that she had her wand at the ready to any and all who entered her personal space, so Harry approached with great caution. Better begin outside the reach of her arm, just to be safe, he thought.

"How's Crookshanks?" he offered, watching her flinch slightly at the question.

"He was badly mauled, but Hagrid said he should be alright eventually. It's just going to take time," she replied, her voice trembling slightly before she turned on Harry with venomous, ice-cold sarcasm, "How's your _girlfriend_?"

"I haven't seen her yet; she's still in the hospital wing," he said, doing his best to ignore her tone.

"Well, considering what I would do to her if she was here right now, you can tell her she'd be better off staying there!"

Harry tried his best to keep a straight face and resisted the temptation to mention that Ginny could most likely best Hermione in combat wearing a blindfold and one hand tied behind her back.

"Look, from what I can tell, nobody knows how it happened and you can't tell me that's Ginny's normal behaviour," he reasoned, "I mean, do _you_ know exactly what happened?"

"Of course I don't!" she snapped back at him, "It was dark. I got woken up by some loud thudding on the floor, then Crookshanks started howling. Just as I got up, there was a big crashing noise and screams from the other end of the room, then by the time the lamps were lit, most of them were either running out or hiding. I was trying to find out what was going on from one of the second year girls who was crouching behind her bed but she couldn't give me a straight answer, and that's when I saw Crookshanks lying on the floor. But no, Harry, I don't know exactly how it happened."

Harry nodded in silence, completely unable to make sense of it all, when Hermione suddenly continued.

"But I've got a pretty good idea _why_ it happened."

"Oh?" said Harry, looking up.

"And I wouldn't be surprised if the same thought has crossed your mind as well. Ron may not have said anything, but I'm sure he'd know just what I was talking about."

Harry could only stare questioningly at her.

"Stop acting so innocent, Harry!" she hissed, "That family have a lot more pride in their heritage than they let on. It just so happens that Ginny was the one to act on it. I just didn't know her teeth were that sharp."

Piecing together the point she was trying to make, Harry's eyes widened in a cynical fashion and fixed on Hermione as if she had gone mad.

"Oh, I don't believe I'm hearing this!" he responded, "I never thought I'd hear something like that from _you_!"

"Believe it, Harry! The ideas were probably there for years. Remember in our fourth year, the looks that Molly was giving me, just because she believed that I was making eyes at _you_? Ginny just wanted to take it a step further when she saw that me being with Ron was a threat to their precious bloodline! I know just what she was thinking! Let's put the mudblood in her place and hit her where it hurts! Let's show her _exactly_ what we really think of her! Well, that showed me, didn't it!"

Hermione was now stomping around in circles, shaking with anger. Harry simply stood there with an impatient look on his face, thinking that his friend had finally lost her marbles.

"And only being 'half-blood', _you_ could have easily been in the same boat!" she ranted, "You should be thankful for two things; firstly, that you saved the lives of three Weasleys, and secondly, that you're 'The Boy Who Lived', because otherwise, Hedwig would probably be 'The Owl Who Died'!"

That, Harry decided, was the last straw. He drew his wand and pointed it at her with calm conviction.

"Hermione, sit down and be quiet before I force you to do both against your will."

With a stunned expression, Hermione turned round and regarded him in shock for a few moments before moving slowly towards the nearest chair and lowering herself into it. Harry, meanwhile, stood there a wizard in control. When he addressed her, he spoke in kindly tones that she could not help but listen to.

"As you know, we've been friends a long time. I remember the first day I met you, and I won't deny that the things you already knew about magic were enough to make my head spin. You've always been there to help me out, and after living with my aunt and uncle for eleven years, you were someone who showed me that genuinely nice people really do exist. I can honestly say that you are like the sister I never had."

As hard as she fought it, Hermione's stony face melted into a smile on hearing this. Harry then surprised her by swooping down on her until they were almost nose to nose.

"But if I thought for a second that you seriously believed that crap you were just telling me, then I wouldn't hesitate to have you carted off to St Mungo's to have your head examined."

The shock returned to Hermione's countenance so fast that she may as well have been struck by lightning. Harry took a deep breath and continued.

"Just take a moment to think about the things that family have done for us, even when they've hardly been the wealthiest of wizarding homes. With the possible exception of Percy, they've never been anything but the best of friends to us, and how you can think that they disapprove of you and Ron being together is beyond me. Ginny was waiting for it to happen for a long time, and she was over the moon when it finally did. And in case you've forgotten, Molly even talked about the two of you getting married!"

Hermione's posture was weakening with every sentence, but Harry was quite determined to maintain his momentum.

"Let's go back and examine what happened tonight. When you saw Ginny sitting against the wall with all that blood on her, did you even notice how petrified she looked? That girl sitting in a wretched state against the wall, was that the Ginny you've always known? One of the first things I learned from you what that things aren't always what they seem, and whatever happened to her wasn't something she wanted. You might as well say she spent her first year at Hogwarts as a willing servant of Voldemort!"

The witch who sat there was now hanging her head. No longer the confident, upright Hermione that Harry knew, and he could now tell that underneath a curtain of curls she was silently weeping. Harry's face softened as he went on.

"Look, I know you're very upset," he said, sitting down and putting an arm around her, "I wouldn't want to know anyone in your shoes who wasn't, but the worst thing we can do right now is turn on each other."

She nodded plentifully at what he was saying and knocked her head softly against his shoulder.

"I know you're right," she sobbed, "I know I…I just want to hurt someone, I just want to…blame someone, because it's so bloody unfair!"

"Hermione, we're living in an unfair world right now," replied Harry, nodding consolingly, "which is all the more reason to stick together. Neither Crookshanks nor Ginny are looking their best at the moment, but I really don't think we can point fingers at anyone. And I'm _not_ just saying that because she's my girlfriend. You _know_ she would never do something like that on purpose."

"Yes, I know," she said dejectedly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, "and I _do_ know Ron was only trying to help. What can I do, Harry?"

Harry took a moment's consideration of the matter before smiling back at her.

"Crookshanks is in safe hands, so try not to worry. What you should do now is get yourself up those stairs," he said, motioning towards the boys' dormitory and giving her a suspicious grin, "- and _don't_ try telling me you haven't been up there before! You'll find the rest of the firewhiskey in my trunk. I suggest you and Ron spend a few hours following Professor Trelawney's example."

"But…"

Harry silenced her.

"Go."

She gave him a grateful smile and hurried away.

Spending four hours pacing around the common room was hardly Harry's idea of constructive activity, but he felt as though he had no choice. He was tired but could not even sit still for two minutes at a time, and a touch of his old stubbornness returned to him as he began kicking himself for not insisting that he stay in the hospital wing and watch over Ginny. He'd be ready for anything, he told himself, but there was always a part of him that couldn't handle how Ginny had changed. From the young girl who came tripping down the stairs at the Burrow, only to flee like a startled rabbit at the sight of him, to the witch who now lay in a hospital bed with cat's blood dried into her nightdress.

He watched the clock until it nearly drove him out of his mind. Instead, he stared outside, waiting for the sky to turn a suitable colour. Summoning the concentration required to practice the advanced magic he had learned was out of the question. By the time the clock struck eight, he was ready to tear his hair out and throw himself head-first through the portrait hole without opening it.

Finally, he could bear it no longer, and sprinted out of the common room, surprising both the Fat Lady and Lupin who called after him in vain. It was a breathless Harry Potter who eventually confronted Madame Pomfrey just outside the hospital wing.

"Mr Potter, please calm yourself!" she said sternly, attempting to separate articulate speech from his hyperventilating, "You'll end up as my next patient if you're not careful! When your pulse has settled a little, you can go in and see her, but I would be most grateful if you wouldn't wake her up if she's still asleep. The poor girl's taken quite a jolt to her system."

Harry nodded and sat down to catch his breath. He wondered in these few moments what he would actually say when he walked through those doors. When he stopped to think about it, he was worried about what he would _see_ as well. Stepping resolutely into the long ward, he spotted Ginny immediately. Instead of lying in a deep sleep or shaking feverishly, she was sitting on one of the beds with her back to him, staring out of the window. He stopped for a moment to once again decide what best to say, when all of a sudden, she spoke. Little of the warmth and kindness remained in her voice, in fact the sound he heard was both cold and morose.

"You keeping your distance now?" she enquired without looking round, "I really wouldn't blame you."

As he walked on towards her, she slid herself off the bed and turned to face him.

"Ginny, I don't want to keep my distance, I – "

She shook her head with a pained expression and put her hand up to show that she didn't wish him to come any closer.

"I just want to know what's going on," he finished, respecting her wishes.

Ginny's face displayed all too clearly the conflict that raged within her. She wanted to lunge forward, grab a tight hold of him and never let him go, but a voice inside her was warning that right now, he just needed to be kept safe. Right now, she couldn't guarantee this if she let him near.

"That's what I want too, Harry," she said, blinking back tears from her tired eyes, "and if I knew, I would tell you."

Thinking back over the events of the past six months, Harry felt mentally and emotionally exhausted, and all he wanted was a straight answer.

"Would I be right in thinking that all this began before we came back to Hogwarts?" he asked.

She nodded slowly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry sighed weakly, "I just want to help."

It was then that Ginny decided to twist the knife in the wound. She knew what she had to say, but was a little uncertain of the best way to say it.

"Something has happened to me, and I can only understand bits and pieces of it. There is so much I need to know, so much I need to learn…and I need to do it alone. I can't be around you…or anyone."

Harry was sure it wouldn't be long before he had a severe breakdown. It was all too much to bear, and he began to consider what would happen if he broke under the strain.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked helplessly.

"Please Harry, don't make this more difficult than it already is!" wailed Ginny, supporting her weak frame against the bed, "You know what it's like! How many times have you asked people to trust you and your instincts when you knew you had to do something dangerous on your own? All I'm asking is that you trust _me_…"

He knew she was right, but it didn't stop the questions from barging their way to the front of his mind.

"Well why do you think you can only do this on your own? You know I'd do anything for you."

Ginny paused and straightened herself up, before looking him directly in the eye.

"Last night, it was Hermione's cat. What if it was Hermione next time? What if it was _you_? There are things I must do before I can protect you, Harry, and you just need to trust me that I'm right about this."

There was an eerie silence, during which Harry felt the overwhelming sensation that his heart was being gripped inside a clenched fist.

"For how long?" he asked quietly.

"I really don't know…but when the time is right, I will find you," she replied.

As he opened his mouth to protest, she silenced him with a look of deep sadness that reflected exactly how he felt inside. She spoke her final words to him as gently as she could manage.

"If you really care about me, and if you want to live through this, then turn around and leave me…"

Accompanied with a powerful urge to be sick, angry tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and a refusal to believe that any curse from a dark wizard could feel worse than this, Harry Potter did something that he promised both Albus Dumbledore and himself he would never do. He walked away.


	31. Back to the Grave

Chapter 31 – Back to the Grave

"Watch it, mate; you'll be burning holes through the wall if you keep that up!"

Ron slowly raised himself from the floor of the Room of Requirement where he had leapt for cover to avoid a series of brutal curses from Harry's wand. He had bewitched a number of cushions to fly in random patterns around the room, so that Harry could have some practice attacking moving targets. The scorched remains of half a dozen or so cushions lay scattered about them, as if to mirror the foul mood in which Harry had been since he awoke that morning.

The days had now become a full week since Ginny had, for all intents and purposes, vanished, and all either of them knew was that she was still safe at Hogwarts. She had moved from the Gryffindor dormitory, and nobody had claimed to have seen her since. Even the Headmistress knew little more than the fact that she was still alive.

"What's got into you today?" enquired Ron, pleading ignorance, "You're supposed to focus, not just demolish everything in sight. That last one could've been my _head_!"

Harry shrugged a half-hearted apology and tidied the cushions into a pile as he grumbled quietly. His friend realised that this was an hour of need and suddenly felt very bad for his criticism.

"Harry, I don't think you realise what kind of a survivor Ginny is," said Ron encouragingly, "She could take care of herself no matter what, and this is her own brother talking here."

This fell on deaf ears, as Harry busied himself in repairing the damaged furniture and patches of wall, a wholly unnecessary task, as the room itself would change the moment they left it.

"I know you're listening to me, so don't pretend," Ron continued, "I'd be feeling just as rotten if Hermione was hiding herself away like that; matter of fact, my sister disappearing is just as bad. Come on Harry, stop being all strong and silent about it. You're pissed off, so share it with the world."

Harry finally pocketed his wand, wearily exhaled and looked back at his friend.

"You're right," he said slowly, "You _know_ you're right. You _know_ you're right and you want _me_ to agree with you. And I do, but that doesn't stop me thinking about it and worrying every minute of the day."

Over the past couple of years, Ron had learned how to deal with Harry's various moods, and now was a time to put the knowledge to good use. It was as they picked up their bags and made to leave the room that he hit upon the ideal solution.

"What you need is something to take your mind of all this," he remarked.

Harry twisted his face sceptically.

"What could possibly serve as a distraction, the way my life is right now? You could tell me I'd been selected for the England Quidditch team for the next world cup, and I'd still have forgotten about it within a few days."

"Maybe so," Ron replied, "but speaking of your faulty memory, have you forgotten about your little visit to Godric's Hollow?"

A stunning spell couldn't have stopped Harry in his tracks faster. Ron watched with a good deal of satisfaction as his words took their effect. Harry _had_ forgotten, and now he cursed himself for doing so. He turned slowly to his friend.

"That may just do the trick," he muttered pensively, "but it's going to be a little more difficult than I first thought."

"Hold that thought," said Ron quickly, turning swiftly on his heel and drawing his wand on a second year Hufflepuff pupil, "_Accio_!"

A bag of Honeydukes strawberry fudge bats came flying out of the startled boy's hand.

"Sorry mate, Filch's orders," he said, trying to sound as regretful as possible, "No eating in the corridors."

The boy then stomped off, swearing under his breath.

"When will they learn?" Ron sighed, shaking his head and cramming a fudge bat into his mouth, "Anyway, why would it be more difficult?"

"Well, strange as it may seem, when I first thought about visiting my parents' resting place, the plan didn't involve escaping from Hogwarts,"

They were both deep in thought on the matter all the way back to the common room, when Ron finally spoke.

"Once you're a little way clear of the far side of the lake, you can apparate, right?" he said as they stepped through the portrait hole.

"I'd want to go a bit further than that, just to be on the safe side," replied Harry warily, "If it doesn't work because I'm still within the boundaries of the school, then I'll bet McGonagall has some way of knowing about it, with the extra security and all. Of course, there's always the problem of even getting that far without being noticed. Can't take a boat across the lake, and it's a bit of a risk that my cloak will cover me completely on my firebolt."

Ron nodded sagely, but there was a question that preyed far more on his mind.

"You'll have to be there and back in less than a day, you do know that, don't you? If anyone asks, we can't exactly cover for you forever."

Harry didn't answer. He was now staring into space, thinking how unfair it was that he should have to resort to such deceptive means just to visit the site of his parents' burial. It should have been his everyday right. The silence prompted Ron to voice an even deeper concern.

"You…do know how to get there…don't you?"

Still no answer. Harry was considering the matter, but for him, it was more a question of when rather than how. The way he was feeling, it would be sooner rather than later.

"If you and Hermione can be ready to make my excuses by midnight on Saturday, then I'll take care of the rest."

The shadow of Hogwarts castle was thrown in a faint and lazy manner, owing to the heavy mist that swirled across the moon, and this was something for which the wizard who stood under its imposing gaze was most grateful. Walking with a slight stoop, attempting to keep both body and broomstick concealed by his cloak, he hurried across the long stretch of grass that led down to the lake, with the constant feeling that his every step was being watched. He notice for the first time that night time around the school grounds was far from quiet when you were out there alone. There was a chorus of grasshoppers, brushing noises in the longer patches of grass, and perhaps most unnerving, the occasional sound of snapping twigs.

As he neared the water's edge, he mounted his broom and took one last look back at the place he called home. He couldn't deny the sickly feeling in his stomach that had plagued him since the moment the cold air hit his face, but this was something he would simply have to overcome. The moment he kicked off from the ground, however, this gave way to the sheer exhilaration for which he had yearned for far too long. Keeping the cloak wrapped around him as best he could, he flew across the lake with the wind sweeping his hair back, at a speed that made his eyes water. This was one of his life's simple comforts, and he enjoyed it to the full before finally touching down a hundred yards or so beyond the far end of the lake.

Leaving nothing to chance, he walked on until he passed a thick clump of bushes before choosing to disapparate. He closed his eyes tightly in concentration and crossed his fingers, hoping desperately that nothing would go wrong, then turned on the spot and left the school grounds altogether. And so it was that on such a cold winter night, Harry opened his eyes, and to his relief, found himself standing just within sight of The Burrow.

Being the nearest familiar point of reference to the village of Godric's Hollow, Harry now unfolded a map he had copied from the Hogwarts library and used a subtle wand light to read by.

"North-west," he murmured, noting once again with distain that he would have to cross the Bristol Channel, hardly the warmest of journeys at the best of times, "About…a hundred and twenty miles. Wonderful."

As if it now knew instinctively what he would ask of it, Harry's wand spun around to give him a northerly bearing. He looked back at The Burrow and felt a longing to call on Mr and Mrs Weasley, but this was out of the question. He couldn't risk alerting _anyone_ that he was away from Hogwarts, and apart from anything else, it would hardly be tactful to call at a wizard dwelling at this time of night, with so much fear of dark wizards hanging in the air.

Hoping that Voldemort's followers weren't in the habit of frequenting this part of the west country, or south Wales for that matter, he took off once again and began his flight to Godric's Hollow. It wasn't easy to keep a steady course while attempting to avoid well-lit areas and travelling through dense patches of cloud whenever he dared. The cold bit into his hands and face as he reached the expanse of water that would lead him to the neighbouring country, and he started to regret his decision not to wear full quidditch robes.

In the hours that followed, Harry took every opportunity to land on empty stretches of road to check the signposts and make sure he hadn't strayed too far from his intended heading, and finally, after his patience had all but worn away, he found a narrow turning from the main road with the sign he had been searching for. He flew low across the ground, taking special care to stay off the road itself, not that he could imagine any cars coming this way at such an hour.

The sun was just in the course of waking, and as he approached the road leading into the village, he could make out the features of the landscape, just as Hagrid had described. Whether it was a matter of confidence or stupidity, Harry touched down and pulled off his invisibility cloak. Even on the busy streets of London, there were muggles who would have taken a second glance at him, and in the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow, he would stick out like a sore thumb. He reasoned, however, that there would be a clear hour or two before he could possibly be troubled by any passers-by.

A long row of pale brick houses came into view, and as promised, the land to the right sloped up into a grassy hill behind them. Where the ground levelled out at the top of the hill, a thick stretch of woodland began, peppered with the winter frost. Harry's heartbeat appeared to stop for a moment. Somewhere on the edge of those woods were his mother and father, lying cold and dead in the earth.

He climbed briskly up the slope and quickened his pace further as he spotted the alcove of fir trees for which he was searching. Making the last approach with a sedate and cautious tread, he found it hard to believe that the bare, unmarked ground could be the place Hagrid had meant. He stopped suddenly, noticing a shimmering silver haze appear above the soil. A small, shiny marble headstone materialised, and as the haze cleared, Harry knelt down to read the inscription:

IN MEMORIUM

JAMES & LILY POTTER

LAID TO REST NOVEMBER 1981

FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS – THE HOPE LIVES ON

One solitary tear fell from his left eye. He considered that this could possibly be because so many more had already fallen, but the sight of the grave couldn't fail to strike him deep inside.

"So, this is where you've been," he said, wiping his face on the back of his arm, "This is where _HE_ put you,"

He got to his feet and looked about him before returning his attention to the burial ground. He was glad at least that his parents had rested in peaceful surroundings.

"There's so much I'd say to you both if you were here," he began, wondering if he should have made some notes beforehand, "I've had…well…an interesting time at Hogwarts. I learnt all about Quidditch, and now I'm captain of the Gryffindor team. A seeker, Dad, just like you. I don't suppose it really matters much now, but I just thought I'd tell you."

A chill rippled through the air, and Harry found himself pulling his jacket tighter around him.

"A lot of bad things have happened, though," he continued, "Sirius is dead and…so is Professor Dumbledore. I'm just glad to have known them both before it happened. I've learned a lot about both of you, and I…I just…"

Harry was furious with himself. He knew what he wanted to say, but just couldn't seem to put it into words. Staring down at his feet, he opted for the first words that came to mind.

"I just wanted to tell you that you didn't die for nothing. I'll put things right, I promise I will!"

He was shuddering, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and went on.

"There's someone I wish you could've met. I've known her for about five years, but last year we – "

He broke off sharply as he felt the unmistakable sensation that he was being watched. With a lightning reflex, he drew his wand from his jacket and fired a hex into the trees. He narrowed his eyes to see a thin trail of smoke emitting from a piece of burnt tree bark, and heard the sound of someone carefully exhaling. It was only when he attempted to trace the moving shape through the branches that he felt the effect of the paralysing spell that had been fired back at him. He was vaguely aware of a figure dressed in black emerging from the wood, when he heard the all too familiar voice of the Half-Blood Prince.

"Impressive, Potter," said Snape with slow, calm authority, "albeit lacking in discipline."

He circled around Harry and reappeared directly in the boy's eye line, ducking smoothly underneath his still outstretched arm.

"I realise this must be an emotional moment for you, but as I'm sure you will agree, that could hardly be cited as an excuse if it were my intention to cause you genuine harm."

After a pause, he stared with fierce concentration into Harry's eyes.

"Now, despite your gallant attempt to singe my sleeve, I do sense a certain hesitation in you, now that your mystery assailant has shown himself, and from that I can only conclude that you have heard the truth of my involvement in this grim tale from your late, great headmaster."

Another pause, during which Harry, for the first time, could not quite identify the source of his anger towards his former potions master. He suspected that it was now more because he had interrupted the visit to his parents' grave.

"However," Snape continued in a lighter, mildly surprised tone, "the fact that I see nothing more of any use can only mean that your study of Occlumency has not been without merit. I must confess that until now, I believed Dumbledore's faith in you to be somewhat unfounded, and yet I face you now with a small but definite sense of hope."

Even if Harry had had the use of his voice at this point, he would have remained speechless. This was without doubt the most generous thing Snape had ever said to him. It was then that the Professor pulled a bag of crimson velvet from his robes. It obviously contained some kind of round object that he considered to be very delicate.

"That being the case, I believe that the climate is right to present you with a piece of the puzzle."

He laid the bag carefully down at Harry's feet and slowly returned to his authoritative stance.

"I regret that there is no more assistance I can render at present, as my time is both precious and limited. I can only hope that certain members of the Order can fully understand the gravity of the situation."

As he prepared to leave, he turned back and addressed the gravestone that stood before them with a strange mixture of bitterness and urgency.

"Oh, and James? If there is any way of giving some fatherly advice from the great beyond, could you please tell your son to handle that object with the utmost caution and to tell no one how he came by it. I've already risked my neck in ways he couldn't possibly appreciate, and if that information were to fall upon the wrong ears, then you and I will be crossing wands a lot sooner than either of us would wish…"

He disapparated as he passed the nearest tree and in the same instant, Harry regained his movement, stumbling slightly as his legs unfroze. He looked quickly about him to make sure that he was now alone in the clearing, crouched with his wand in a guarded manner, and finally looked down at the velvet bag that lay beside him. Taking hold of it apprehensively at arm's length as if handling a newly-born blast-ended skrewt, he debated how best to approach this 'gift'. Putting aside his confusion about Snape, he felt sure that if he were not meant to examine the contents of the bag, he would have been told so.

Whatever the object was, it didn't appear to be especially hot or cold from touching the velvet that surrounded it. He reached gingerly inside and stopped as his hand met what felt like a smooth ball of glass. Keeping a steady hold of it to test whether or not it was having some effect on his mind or body, he slowly drew it out of the bag. On first examination, his sense of touch had proven true. It was indeed a sphere of glass, interrupted only by a flattened base at one end. There was a greyish blue mist that swirled around inside it, and Harry now recognised it as a seeing stone, not entirely unlike those in Professor Trelawny's classroom, though this seemed to be a little grander in some way.

Turning it round to inspect the base, Harry's pulse suddenly raced skyward as the truth hit him. He heard a roar of triumph inside his head that was soon quelled by a cry of fear from his stomach as he stared at the object in his hand. There on the flattened edge, carved flawlessly into the glass and unspoiled by the passing of centuries, was the crest of Rowena Ravenclaw.


	32. Rowena's Stone

Chapter 32 – Rowena's Stone

The ability to simply apparate to the outskirts of the school was one for which Harry was deeply grateful. He wouldn't have wanted to risk the loss of his precious cargo which had still not left the iron grip of his right hand. The return journey to Hogwarts would be a more difficult task, as he was now standing out in the open in broad daylight in an invisibility cloak that struggled to cover his feet. The only choice besides chancing the flight across the lake as soon as possible was to wait until nightfall. As far as Harry was concerned, this was no choice at all.

He crept furtively under the cover of the cloak until he reached the edge of the lake, and was about to mount his firebolt once more, when he noticed that a single boat was waiting at the shore nearby. This was distinctly unusual, unless a member of the Order had slipped away in secret. He trod slowly through the long grass towards it and noticed a piece of parchment lying inside. Taking a quick look around, he leant forward, picked it up and opened it. The handwriting inside was instantly recognisable as being that of the Headmistress.

"Dear Mr Potter,

Your presence in my study in the immediate future would be much appreciated. I believe there are certain school rules you may have overlooked.

Professor M McGonagall"

The fact that disciplinary action was of even the slightest concern to him now, was most puzzling. Perhaps it was because he had always had a great affection for Hogwarts that he still had twinges of regret at disappointing the figures of authority within its walls. Perhaps it was also because the castle was now far more of a home to him.

He sighed and pulled off his cloak, climbed into the boat and let it carry him gently carry him across the lake, wondering briefly whether it had been Ron or Hermione who had broken under questioning.

The looks he received from Tonks and Hagrid on his way across to the castle were surprisingly calm and friendly. He could only guess therefore, that they too had been aware of his sudden departure. The rest of the way to Professor McGonagall's study, Harry chose to avoid all eye contact with anyone he passed.

Finding the door wide open, he walked in to see the Headmistress waiting for him with a peaceful smile. Harry couldn't understand this at all.

"Ah, Potter, do sit down," she said brightly, "I see you found my note."

As he accepted her invitation, his face grew evermore suspicious.

"Who told you?" he asked bluntly.

"Potter, I would beg you not to accuse your closest friends of treachery," she said, "They didn't say a word. I just happened to be looking for you last night, regarding an informal assessment of your progress. Mr Weasley and Miss Grainger would have been most convincing in their cover story, had it not been for the fact that I was accompanied by Professor Lockhart."

Everything clicked into place in Harry's head, and he couldn't help despising the precious few gifts in Lockhart's possession.

"You may consider yourself lucky that I _was_ aware of your little adventure," she continued, "for if you had slipped away unnoticed, invisibility cloak or not, the giant squid in the lake would have plucked you out of the air and sent you right back where you came from. Apart from anything else, I know when any witch or wizard crosses the boundaries of Hogwarts. There are more enchantments surrounding us than there have ever been, just as I told you back in July. Potter, I didn't summon you here to reprimand you for your actions. It was a terrible risk on your part, but a perfectly understandable one. I simply wanted to see that you had come back to us safe and sound…erm…could you possibly tell me what you've brought back with you?"

Harry looked down into his lap and noticed that he was still gripping the velvet bag insistently. The apprehension he had felt at Godric's Hollow now returned to him.

"I…don't know if…if I can tell you," he stammered.

She regarded him in silence, as if trying to determine just how serious he really was.

"Might I imagine," she began hesitantly, "that it is not an object with which you are comfortable?"

He gave a shaky nod in reply.

"Very well. I believe you know where Professor Moody can be found. The appropriate members of the Order have been informed."

Her expression changed to deepest concern as she hurried from behind her desk and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Go quickly, Harry. Use your cloak if you have to, but don't stop to talk to _anyone_ for _any reason_!"

He wasted no more time. Rapidly unfurling the cloak and throwing it around himself, he flew out of the room and down the spiral staircase, all the while hoping desperately that he would see Ginny on his way. If he did, his mission of life or death importance would become nothing more than a trivial errand.

He hurried down stairs and along corridors as quietly as he could, narrowly avoiding a storm of ink-soaked parchment from Peeves, who seemed to have spotted Harry's feet protruding from beneath the cloak. His grip on the bag continued to tighten until he finally reached Mad Eye's study. The Professor looked up suddenly as he heard footsteps approaching. He grinned as he levelled his magic eye at his invisible guest.

"You know, Potter, it would be very worth your while getting one of those in a bigger size if you were lucky enough to find one," he remarked, before Harry had even had a chance to remove the cloak, "Now, where have you come from in such a hurry?"

"Professor…McGonagall…" he gasped, "urgent….can't wait."

It was then that both Moody's eyes fell upon the bag in Harry's hand. He stood up and advanced upon Harry, his curiosity increasing with every step.

"What do you have there, boy?" he demanded abrasively.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath, walked all the way into the room and closed the door behind him. Without a word, he walked straight past Moody to the old oak desk and placed the bag upon it, the Professor watching his every move. Trust had been a shaky subject where Moody was concerned, ever since Harry had discovered that a follower of Voldemort had successfully posed as him and taken a teaching job at Hogwarts for a whole year before being found out. His strongest instinct, however, was that this task could very well be impossible with no one to trust. With this in mind, he reached into the bag and carefully withdrew the seeing stone.

Moody's eyes were now wide open, as he accepted that there could only be one reason Harry had brought this object to him so urgently. He had been told as much as he apparently needed to know by the portrait of Dumbledore before the term had begun, but hadn't the slightest idea when this knowledge would be required. As it was placed upright on the desk, he stared at it in bewilderment. Without looking back at Harry, he spoke again, this time in a far-away voice.

"I'm not a seer, Potter, and I don't need any more ornaments on my shelves. So tell me, what am I looking at here? And how many more such objects can I expect to have laid before me?"

Both of them were now gazing hypnotically into the swirling mist.

"Rowena Ravenclaw..." breathed Harry, "That's all I know for certain."

"Amazing…" Moody replied, even more distantly, "Truly amazing…the Dark Lord…"

He narrowed his eyes and spoke as if he were addressing the stone directly.

"How old were you?...How…did you do this…? Who did you have to kill?"

Shaking his head slightly, he acknowledged Harry's presence once again.

"As a matter of interest, Potter, was it your first impulse to throw it on the ground and smash it open?"

Harry considered. He hadn't really thought about it in those terms.

"I…I suppose it _should_ have been," he replied finally, "but no."

"And why not?" asked Moody, who was now looking back at him.

"I don't know. Just seems too simple…too obvious."

A grin spread across the Professor's face as he gave Harry a pat on the shoulder.

"You really do have the makings of an auror, Potter, and doubtless a better one than the Ministry deserves. Indeed, there's nothing '_simple_' about the dark arts, except maybe the intentions behind them. I can undo a lot of dark magic, but I've a feeling that we'll need help if we want the magic to show itself."

Harry's instinct told him that this would prove somewhat more difficult than the desecration of Tom Riddle's diary in his second year.

"There are two Professors I need you to find for me, Harry," Moody continued, "I'll need one to make sure the other is sober."

Finding Professor Trelawney was a fairly simple task. Finding her in a coherent and rational state was a little more difficult. She kept mostly to the tower she had always occupied at Hogwarts, emerging primarily to dispose of empty bottles that once contained various highly intoxicating substances, even some barely fit for human consumption. Since being relieved of her post as a teacher of Divination, she had found alcohol to be a most valued companion.

As Harry ascended the ladder, he grimaced at the noxious cocktail of aromas that wafted down from above his head. He questioned once again why this was necessary. Trelawney was after all, as Hermione had consistently pointed out, a total and utter fraud. She was oblivious to the gift that Dumbledore had recognised in her, and her second sight would have long since been blurred by a drunken haze.

By a matter of chance, the professor herself happened to be making her way _down_ the ladder, and being unaccustomed to finding it occupied, slipped with a yelp of surprise as her foot met one of Harry's hands. Descending the ladder was achieved a lot faster than either of them had planned, and the two landed violently in a heap at the bottom. Harry lay flat on his back, stunned by the impact. Professor Trelawney rolled lazily off him and burst into near hysterical laughter as she struggled to replace her glasses.

"Did you see that?" she slurred through bouts of giggling, "Help me up, let's try it again!"

Ensuring that no permanent damage had been caused to his spine or his wand, Harry dragged himself painfully upright. The professor was sat up with her head lolling this way and that, and her arms outstretched as if waiting for a servant to attend on her.

"Come on then, give me a hand," she demanded, "I'm sure a pair of strapping young lads like you are perfectly capable of helping such a highly respected seer to her feet!"

"There's only me here," he muttered impatiently, utterly unimpressed by her behaviour.

"Right you are," she belched, straightening the glasses that provided a disturbing magnification of her badly focused eyes.

"Just get up," replied Harry, grabbing her arm and hoisting her roughly off the ground, "I need to take you to see Professor Slughorn."

This was the first time he had spoken to a member of staff in such a manner, although technically, Sybil Trelawney hadn't been on the staff for nearly two years. Either way, Harry had no problem treating her like this.

"Slug…horn…" she repeated, rolling the name around inside her head like a marble in a cauldron as she staggered from side to side, "Which one is he then?"

"He's the potions master," said Harry, not wishing to engage the inebriated witch in any more conversation than was absolutely necessary.

She leaned in towards him with a mischievous grin, giving him the full benefit of her psychotic stare and fermented breath, then slapped him playfully on the back.

"I like your thinking, boy!" she proclaimed ecstatically, "Potions…cocktails…see my thinking? Wonderful woman, Rosmerta, but her stock does tend to taste a little stale after a few bottles. Maybe this Professor Bogthorn can pass me something with a little more kick!"

"It's _Slughorn,_" Harry sighed, attempting to steer Professor Trelawney down the corridor and hoping that the potions master would at least give her something to shut her up for a while.

The journey to Slughorn's study was more what Harry would refer to as a journey and a half. Having to all but carry the professor in her drunken stupor and endure her abusive observations of shocked students and staff alike, he could only hope that Mad-Eye had been right about how important she would be to the task in hand.

"Do you think perhaps we could pick up the pace?" she slurred, lurching sideways off Harry's arm and nearly crashing into a portrait of a rather startled highwayman on the wall, "You young people may not place much importance on punctuality, but I'm sure Professor Wormtrough will."

"_Slughorn,_" Harry replied, hissing through his teeth in exasperation and once again forcefully retrieving Professor Trelawney from the floor.

After a great deal more pushing and pulling, he finally delivered his wretched former divination teacher to his potion master's door. Professor Slughorn looked up with a face of sparkling delight as he saw Harry standing in the doorway.

"So there you are, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, "Come in, please! Where the devil have you been hiding? The way our delightful new headmistress tells it, you've scarcely had time to draw breath since you arrived. Thought perhaps you'd been avoiding – "

He stopped short as his nose began to twitch violently.

"Hell's teeth, Potter, what have you been drinking?" he coughed in surprise, "I may be partial to the odd dose of firewater for medicinal purposes, but you smell like the cellars in the Hog's Head!"

Harry looked behind him and realised that Trelawney had slumped down out of view beside the door.

"No, no, that would be my companion here," he said, pulling her to her feet as best he could, while the professor looked on in concern.

She leant on his shoulder and whispered cautiously in his ear.

"Is that…_the snail man_?"

He quickly grabbed her by the waist to stop her collapsing once more.

"Yes," he replied wearily, "Yes, that's the snail man."

Twenty minutes later, Harry entered Mad-Eye Moody's study behind Professor Slughorn and surprisingly upright Professor Trelawney. Sobriety had been brought to her so rapidly by a potion stimulant that she was still a little perplexed by the reality of her surroundings, and now her vastly magnified eyes were staring about her as if to ensure that she hadn't stumbled into a dream.

"Shut the door, Potter," growled Moody.

As Harry did so, his defence teacher addressed the new arrivals.

"I think it only fair to tell you that there's now a powerful seal charm on the door," he said, with a vaguely maniacal grin on his face, "just in case anyone is seized by a compulsion to leave before I consider the time to be right."

Slughorn was already shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other, but it was Trelawney who first gave voice to protest.

"Why do you need _me_ here _at all_?" she grumbled, her piercing gaze locked on Moody, "Why not just summon the filthy nag? I'm sure you'll find him trotting around the grounds or munching some hay to feed his divine knowledge – "

"I need you here because you have a _talent_," barked the professor, making her recoil slightly, "and I'm not talking about your ability to sink a bottle of brandy in the space of ten minutes!"

He paused to ensure that he would receive no further interruption for the time being.

"Young Potter here has brought a dark magical object to my attention. Sybil, you're here because of what that object _is_. Horace, you're here because of what it _means_."

Moody then turned his back on them and made for the desk, where he covered the object with the velvet bag.

"No need to be so theatrical, old chap," said Professor Slughorn, as breezily as possible, "Can't you just tell us what this is all about?"

Turning slowly around to face them, Moody's expression was both grave and earnest.

"It's all about a certain former pupil of yours," he said darkly, before whipping off the cover and revealing the seeing stone to them, "who just happens to be the mystery guest in the room."

Harry couldn't be sure if Slughorn really didn't understand, or just didn't _want _to understand. He had, after all, remembered nothing about giving Harry the memory of his conversation with Tom Riddle regarding Horcruxes. One thing he _did_ remember, however, was that Harry had asked him about them. The wheels in his head turned slowly and methodically as his glance shifted between Moody, Harry, and the smoky glass sphere that lay on the desk in front of him. His face gradually entered the realm between anger and apprehension.

"I don't know where you got your information, and I don't know where you got that _thing_, but I want no part in it!"

He stormed towards the door with his wand drawn, deciding how best to break his way out, when Moody called after him.

"Your part in this began fifty odd years ago, and now, if you don't mind, I believe it should be brought to an end!"

The whole room stood in silence. Even Professor Trelawney, who still hadn't the slightest clue what was going on, turned to look at the now hesitant potions master.

They all watched as his wand arm dropped limply to his side, though it was nearly a full minute before he turned around.

"What do you want from me?" he asked finally, resigned to the fact that he could turn away no longer.

"The soul inside can be destroyed," said Moody, in an attempt to convince himself as well as the assembled company, "but summoning it from the object itself is a different matter. We can't just shatter it and hope for the best. Our valued seer is here to tell us exactly what is held within."

It was again Professor Trelawney's turn to speak up.

"Are you err…quite sure? My inner eye must be given proper time and circumstance to…focus," she said, rather pathetically.

"Oh, I'm perfectly sure," replied Moody, with a reassuring though slightly wicked grin, "In fact I think your inner eye will find it a very sobering experience."

She stepped forward with nervous caution, as if approaching a sleeping dragon. Though she knew much of the theory behind Divination, she had seldom appeared to be a convincing seer to _anyone_. For the most part, it had been based on guesswork, and she feared that what followed would be yet more humiliation. Moody stepped aside, allowing her to take a seat in front of the bewildering object.

Placing her hands delicately either side of it, she stared into the glass, hoping that an image, a word, or even a strange pattern in the smoke would reveal itself. She looked so hard into the swirling mist that her eyes began to hurt behind the enormous lenses. The minutes ticked by, during which Harry's faith in Professor Moody's judgement steadily diminished. Finally, Professor Trelawney shook her head in acceptance of the cold hard facts.

"I'm sorry, there appears to be nothing in…" she began, "nothing I can…no…sign…I…"

Her words trailed off as a faint light started to glow at the centre of the stone. All of a sudden she became transfixed, her eyes widening to the size of teacups, and a monstrous groan rose into her throat. The other occupants of the room stared at her in amazement as she cried out in what seemed to be three separate voices; her own voice, though slightly deeper, a guttural snarl, and some kind of ghostly wail.

"_Be gone! You who meddle are not worthy! The time is not right!"_

All three now had their wands drawn on her, though none dared touch her.

"_I await the follower who would see me rise again!"_ she continued, reaching for new tones of urgency.

She shuddered a little as the light slowly dimmed into nothing, released her grip on the glass, and finally slouched in her chair. After a few moments' pause, Professor Slughorn gave her a small prod with his wand, and the three of them jumped back in shock as she suddenly regained full consciousness, her glasses perched at a comical angle on her nose.

"Wha…what is it?" she enquired, "Oh…terribly sorry, I was miles away. Anyway, like I was saying, magnificent instrument and all, but I fear that the eye is still a little out of balance."

Moody covered the seeing stone once again and helped her out of the chair.

"Quite alright, my dear," he said calmly, "Suppose it was worth a try."

He guided her towards the door, breaking the seal charm with a flick of his wand, and ushered her out into the hallway.

"_Obliviate_," he breathed, stunning her just enough to take her legs out from under her.

She looked up at him with a dazed expression, feeling slightly groggy from the memory charm. Moody grasped her under the arm and gently helped her to her feet.

"Oh Sybil, I really do think you should give the old bottle a rest," he remarked with the deepest sympathy, "Looks like you've been for a wander, though bugger knows how you wound up here in _your_ state! Maybe you'd benefit from having a nice lie down."

"Erm…err yes, I suppose so," she said, still puzzled, "I'll um…be in my room,"

The moment she was out of sight, the professor returned to the study and closed the door behind him.

"Don't think we'll be having any trouble from her," he said, adjusting his magical eye and turning to Professor Slughorn, "but now it's _your_ turn."

Slughorn took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. Whatever he knew about Horcruxes, he wished he'd _never_ known. Despite this, as a matter of sheer habit, he had been turning the problem over and over in his head, and hit upon what he hoped might be a solution. His eyes shifted about, as though he were silently working his way through a mathematical equation, then he took a deep breath and replied to the challenge.

"So you just need to drag the little blighter out of there, am I right?"

"Well, to put it mildly, yes," said Moody.

There was still a certain amount of hesitation in the manner of the potions master. This wasn't something he wanted to be involved in. He took pride in his associations with the great and good, and would often go out of his way to assist others in achieving notoriety, but this was a far more dangerous gamble than most. There was something about that boy though, a little voice in his head told him. If this particular gamble paid off, all concerned would be remembered and praised far beyond their own lifetimes. He proceeded cautiously.

"Have either of you ever heard of an Entrapment potion?" he enquired.

Both of them shook their heads.

"Well, it's a little like using cheese to lure a mouse from its hole," he explained, "It produces a powerful essence that is quite irresistible to its intended target, though far more violently than the likes of Amortentia. Imagine a scent that would give a bear the strength to actually break out of his cage in pursuit of it, and the making of it is not without its hazards."

"Would it work on a spirit such as this?" asked Moody.

"To my knowledge, it's never been _tried_ before," came the reply.


	33. Entrapment

Chapter 33 – Entrapment

Professor Slughorn had taken great pains in ensuring that his store cupboard of ingredients was always well maintained, so that locating a particular jar or vial would never be too difficult. There was still however, a certain hesitation in his manner whilst picking out the ingredients for a Potion of Entrapment. The last time he had brewed it in front of a class had been over thirty years ago, and the resulting incident had earned him a caution from the Ministry.

Bearing this in mind, he climbed his stepladder and took a small jar down from a high shelf that contained a branch of strange dried purple leaves.

Before returning to Professor Moody's study, he prepared the basis for the potion which could have been one of many. The combination of substances to follow, on the other hand, was one of a kind. He moved cautiously on his way, keeping his cauldron and leather bag of ingredients as steady as possible.

The sweat was pouring off him by the time he plodded in through the door.

"Any trouble?" Moody demanded.

Slughorn sneered.

"None, as a matter of fact," he replied, "but what kind of 'trouble' do you imagine would have compared to what could happen in the next few minutes? Whether you like it or not, we're _all _facing the unknown, so I hope you have all your affairs in order."

Without another word, he conjured a small fire in the middle of the floor and levitated the cauldron above it. In a very short while, the room was filled with the scent that Harry had always associated with the beginning of a potions lesson, but it was a scent that changed with every new liquid or powder that was added. Moody, being an auror with particular knowledge of poisons, was making suspicious observations, such as "That stuff's a little hard to come by, isn't it?" and "Bloody hellfire, Horace, if the Ministry caught you using _those_ nowadays…".

Finally, Professor Slughorn slowly drew two small glass jars from his bag and set them down upon the wooden stool beside him. He opened the one containing the dried purple leaves and fished three of them out.

"Take this and crumble it between your fingers," he warned, handing them a leaf each, "Then stick it under your noses and inhale its aroma as deeply as you can."

Exchanging inquisitive glances, Harry and Moody did as they were instructed. It was a slightly bitter perfume that filled Harry's nostrils, and one that very nearly made his eyes water. The professor then followed suit with the remaining leaf and uncorked the other bottle. This one contained a greenish black liquid that appeared to fizz and gargle a little with small, slimy white bubbles rise continuously from the bottom.

"Is that…Grindylow blood?" questioned Moody, his nose still twitching from the smell of the leaf.

"I'm glad to see I taught you well," Slughorn replied, with as much of his jovial smile as he could manage, "Bit of a loner but always an attentive pupil, I seem to remember."

He then took a broad silver spoon and held it, downward-facing, over the now simmering, sapphire tinted potion, then allowed a thin dribble to pour from the bottle over it, which then dripped delicately into the cauldron. A spiralling mist arose from the surface, commanding the attention of everyone in the room, including, they hoped, the soul that lay dormant in the crystal ball.

"So is that it?" Moody enquired, "Do we just wait?"

"No, not quite," said Slughorn awkwardly, "There must be one ingredient added that the…erm…spirit could identify and seek out. A kind of bait that is unique to the case in hand."

Harry could see exactly where this was heading before he had even finished speaking, and exhaled with the deepest annoyance. He could almost hear the creaking of neck muscles as the two professors simultaneously turned their heads to face him, like the sound of his own doom. It was quite obvious that no amount of protest would have the slightest effect.

"Oh, go ahead, throw me in the bloody cooking pot!" he blurted out in exasperation, "But this had _better_ work!"

"Steady on there, Potter," said Professor Slughorn reassuringly, "A few drops of the old claret are all we need. One prick with a knife on the end of your finger, nothing more."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he was scared, and once again wished he was just a muggle with only a muggle's problems to worry about. With a sigh of acceptance, he held out his hand.

"Give me the knife then."

He felt the touch of cold metal against his skin and opened his eyes to find himself holding a gleaming silver knife, just like he had once used for potion making. Unwilling to delay this any more than was necessary, he stepped forward and resolutely made a slicing movement with the blade across the top of his index finger. With his arm outstretched, he pressed against the side of the wound until he heard the delicate splashing sound on the surface of the liquid, turning away as he did so. The sight of his blood dripping into a cauldron didn't inspire the happiest of memories.

As he stepped back, Moody took his hand and closed the cut with a flick of his wand, giving him an encouraging wink. The mist emanating from the potion had now turned a crimson red, and all eyes had now returned to the seeing stone, which now began to judder from side to side on its base. They advanced upon it with the kind of caution that would allow them to retreat at any time.

"All part of being an auror," Moody remarked as he saw Harry's hand tremble as it gripped his wand, "Dealing with the unexpected, I mean."

Harry steadied himself as bravely as he could. No matter what Slughorn had intended, the potion was certainly having _some_ sort of effect on the Horcrux. It was shaking more violently now, and the coloured smoke inside it was moving around far more rapidly. He turned to the old potions master who stood beside him.

"I think Tom might be waking up."

At that moment, a thin, jagged sliver of light etched itself down the centre of the seeing stone. Though it began to widen, like a tear opening up in a piece of fabric, the glass itself seemed to remain intact. For a few seconds, nobody even dared to breathe.

"What the…?" gasped Harry, as the smoke inside appeared to move effortlessly _through_ the glass without damaging it in the slightest.

What was formerly a ballet of colour inside the ball now became like a storm cloud of ever-darkening mist as it flooded from the light. As it hovered in the air above them, it began to take the shape of a face. A pair of thin eyes, a slightly flattened nose, and finally a mouth became visible, as the three of them continued to stare in amazement. The face looked blankly down upon them, its nose moving a little upwards as it floated in the scent of the Entrapment potion. Moody looked back down at the Horcrux, which now seemed to be nothing but an empty ball of crystal, but the light remained like a portal.

"Stand back," he said slowly.

As he raised his wand, the face of smoke turned to him, suddenly contorted in anger. Floating forward menacingly, it then confronted Harry and Professor Slughorn. Then, as Harry opened his mouth to speak, the face dissolved into a stream of mist that went hurtling down his throat so fast that he barely even had time to choke.

The world in front of Harry turned to darkness. His eyes slowly glazed over in purest black, and all he could hear was a pair of voices in his head whispering feverishly to each other in parseltongue. He tried to make out what they were saying, but was too distracted by the feeling that his insides were being poisoned. The bile was attempting to rise forcefully from his stomach and his heart began to freeze up within his chest, as if it were now circulating ice-cold water instead of blood.

Standing rooted to the spot and convulsing violently, Harry felt an overpowering urge to kill. He wanted one or even _both _of the professors to attack him, just so he could feel justified in murdering the two of them without a moment's reflection. What disturbed him further was how much he wished that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were in the room, so that he could revel in slowly torturing them all to death. _Yes_, one of the voices told him. _See how much pain they can stand first. Make them torture each other before you put them out of their misery!_

He then felt a hand grasp his arm and turned his head sharply. _Now!_ His other hand, still shaking, groped blindly for his wand, when he heard a loud crack and the sound of breaking glass. There was a panic inside his head as the feeling slowly returned to his limbs. He could make out blurry shapes in front of his eyes as his legs buckled beneath him. There was just enough time to feel a slight warmth return to his organs before he lost consciousness.

While Moody examined the remains of the shattered Horcrux, Professor Slughorn searched about his pockets for some smelling salts as he watched the black smoke pour from Harry's mouth and gradually disperse as it mingled with the vapours of Entrapment. There were questions that would need answers, but it was silently agreed that now was not the time.


	34. The Godfather

Chapter 34 – The Godfather

A young zombie of a wizard slowly made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. He wanted nothing more than a comfortable bed, and failed to even acknowledge the presence of other students walking here and there, or the familiar stares of the first and second years. As he stepped through the portrait hole, he heard the voices for which he should have been well prepared.

"Where have you been?" squawked Hermione on seeing him, "Professor McGonagall told us you'd come back, but that was _ages_ ago!"

Noting the look of equal concern and curiosity on Ron's face, Harry decided that it was only fair to enlighten them as far as he was able. As he recounted the events of the morning, their eyes seemed to widen further and further with each sentence.

"But…how did you find this seeing stone?" Ron demanded, frustrated that Harry was carefully edging around the subject.

"I can't tell you," he replied, before adding quickly, "not that I wouldn't if I could, but the truth is, I can't tell _anyone_; not another living soul."

"But you…you destroyed it, didn't you?" repeated Hermione, "So surely that's a _good _thing?"

Harry shrugged.

"I suppose I'll feel better about it tomorrow, but all I can think about right now was how I wanted to kill my best friends a few hours ago. I don't want to feel like that ever again."

"Don't worry, mate. We…" Ron began, before Hermione interrupted.

"Ron, please, just let him go to bed."

Harry gave a weak suggestion of an appreciative smile, then turned and slumped off up the stairs. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, and there he was determined to stay until he could view the world in a more positive light.

Opening his eyes with some difficulty, he found himself standing in the middle of a muddy field with smoky clouds of dust drifting this way and that. Taking a moment to survey the scene properly, he could see that the ground was littered with bodies; many dead, some dying. He was so tired that his study of Occlumency only allowed him to block out the faces of the corpses that lay there. At that point, he just didn't want to know.

Peering through the haze, he made out a shadowy figure picking a way through the bodies. Silhouetted against whatever light the grey sky afforded, Harry could see that the figure, wearing a long, tattered coat and curtains of straggly hair, was holding a wand at his side. He paused in his tracks as he saw Harry, then proceeded with a far more relaxed posture. As his features became gradually more defined in the failing light, Harry could only hope that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"S…Sirius?"

"You know, it's not _every _day I see a friendly face," he replied.

"Wha…what are you doing here?" gaped Harry in disbelief.

"It's where I live now, Harry," said Sirius, now only a few yards away, "Sorry it's such a mess."

"But…but…I don't understand…" Harry replied, shaking his head.

"I died in combat," he said, rubbing his eyes wearily, "so here I am, on the battlefield. It's been strangely quiet here today, so I'd say it's fortunate that you chose now to come and visit."

"If I'd _known_ where you were, I would have been here in a second!" snapped Harry indignantly.

"Harry, please, don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming you. It seems that your dreams are the only way here, and _nobody_ can be expected to foresee what will happen when they close their eyes. I'm just glad to see you."

Hearing these words, Harry lunged forward and hugged his godfather.

"Why did you have to go?" he moaned, sniffing back the tears that made his eyes sting.

Sirius considered. Being dead didn't make this question any easier to answer.

"Well, I can't say that it was just my time," he said resentfully, putting an arm around Harry, "Some of us are just born into the wrong families, I suppose."

Harry couldn't help thinking how dismissive this sounded. Sirius had, after all, been murdered by his own cousin, and he seemed to be the only member of his pure-blood family who had never been seduced by the Dark Arts. He gripped his godson's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye.

"Just remember, Harry, if it weren't for you, I would have surely died in Azkaban, or executed by the Dementors at Hogwarts, which amounts to the same thing. But as it is, I was able to prove my innocence to those who mattered, and at least make an exit with my head held high."

He could see that Harry took little comfort in this. Now was the time to give him strength.

"Look around you," he said, indicating the carnage that surrounded them, "These are the souls who gave up; the ones who surrendered. I will fight this battle for as long as I have to. All you have to know is that when _your_ battle ends, for better or worse, so will mine."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, "Why does my battle matter _here_?"

"As long as there is magic, the Dark Arts will always be part of life. If, however, they are allowed to _rule_, my struggle will never end. You aren't just fighting for those in _your_ world, but also for many here in the _next_. So you see, Harry, you are still the hope I hold on to, and one day, hopefully, I shall be at peace."

What Sirius must have had to endure since the moment of his death, Harry quite simply didn't want to imagine. Wasn't your own demise bad enough without the possibility of being locked in an eternal fray in the afterlife? It was several moments before either of them spoke again, but Harry could tell that there was a question that his godfather was itching to ask.

"I know you must have some bad news for me," he began, pausing to order his thoughts, "Things are never easy here, but summer was nothing short of a nightmare. Something terrible _must_ have happened in your world."

In reality, this would have presented Harry with the dilemma of whether or not it would be wise to burden a dead man with further troubles, but in a dream state, his sense of restraint was lacking.

"We lost Dumbledore," he said, hanging his head sorrowfully, "The Death Eaters found a way into Hogwarts and he was killed."

Sirius looked as if the wind had been completely knocked out of him.

"Dumbledore…dead?" he said finally, as if trying to find sense in the words themselves, "Death Eaters…? But…Harry, that's _impossible_! You know as well as I do that he could've taken on any number of them. They wouldn't have had a chance!"

"It was Snape," said Harry, before rapidly adding, "but it was on Dumbledore's _orders_. It's complicated…"

Sirius was already shaking with rage, but unsure as to how he could express it.

"Were the Death Eaters driven out?" he asked.

Harry nodded as he saw him slowly clenching his fists.

"Did…Snape…go with them?"

"Yes, but – "

"I _KNEW_ IT!" Sirius growled, "Once you're a Death Eater, you're marked for life, and Snivellus is NO exception! And to think I actually believed that drivel about him turning his colours! I wouldn't be surprised if the lot of them are sitting in my…sorry, _your_ house right now, with that bloody Kreacher cheerfully serving them tea and crumpets!"

"But Sirius, I heard it from Dumbledore's portrait," protested Harry, "He _told_ Snape to do it. He said Snape was still serving the Order and…I've seen it for myself."

"You've…seen Snape _since_?"

"I found him at my parents' grave in Godric's Hollow," he replied, "He…"

Harry broke off as he heard a rumble in the distance and saw what looked like a small storm of red flares on the horizon. The ground beneath them started to shake, and Sirius drew his wand once again.

"What's happening?" asked Harry, panicking slightly.

"They're coming," said Sirius, with a genuine sense of urgency, "Harry, listen. You must leave, now."

"I don't understand…_Who's_ coming?"

The rumbling sound grew louder, and Sirius now turned and grabbed Harry's arm.

"I don't have time to explain. Don't worry about me; I can take care of myself. Just _go_! Get out of here! Wake up, Harry! Wake up!"

"Harry, wake up!"

It was as he heard this second familiar voice that Harry's eyes blinked open. Ron was standing at his bedside with a face of both concern and amusement.

"Never known you to be _that_ restless, mate," he grinned, "Tossing and turning all over the place. I was considering waking you up a while ago; thought you'd actually do yourself some damage!"

A little disorientated, Harry rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"Ron?" he yawned, "What time is it?"

"Just gone nine, I think," came the reply, "What were you dreaming about anyway?"

This wasn't a matter Harry wished to discuss. The last thing he wanted was Ron picking his brains about Sirius, and Hermione giving him a stern lecture on how such dreams would have a disastrous effect on his Occlumency.

"Can't remember now," he said as convincingly as he could, "Think it was something about Fred and George using me as a guinea pig."

Luckily, Ron let out a small laugh and threw a t-shirt at him.

"Well, you'd better get dressed. McGonagall said she wanted to see you once you were up and around."

"Wonderful…" Harry murmured as he dragged himself out of bed.

Upon his arrival in the Headmistress's study, Harry found her in conference with Professor Flitwick.

"Ah, Potter, _there_ you are," the old witch said as she looked up, "Do sit down. I certainly hope you feel a little more refreshed. Life does seem to be quite exhausting for you at present."

Glancing briefly at Dumbledore's portrait, he could have sworn the late Headmaster gave him an encouraging wink.

"However," she continued, "Be that as it may, things are not about to get any easier. Erm, Filius, if you would be so kind?"

Professor Flitwick hopped up on to the chair next to Harry and cleared his throat.

"I've been exceptionally pleased with your progress in our Charms lessons, but the Headmistress and myself believe that your wits should now be…well, put to the test."

"Go on," replied Harry after a moments' thought.

"I must warn you, Potter," Flitwick said with a confident smile, "The practical assessment we have in mind will be both demanding _and_ hazardous, and I would strongly advise that you spend the next few weeks immersed in preparation. Allow yourself a little freedom for the Yule celebrations of course, but make sure your spell work in Transfiguration and Charms is as tight and fluid as it can be. I would imagine that we will be arranging your test for the beginning of January, and rest assured, neither of us will be giving you an easy time of it."

So saying, the professor rapidly drew his wand, levitated a paperweight from McGonagall's desk and sent it soaring in Harry's direction. The moment it had started moving, Harry had drawn his wand, but so sudden was the attack, that his only attempt at defence was to transfigure the missile into an inkwell that still caught him in the stomach and upset ink all over his trousers.

"A little more concentration required, I think," the Headmistress sighed.


	35. The Festivities Commence

Chapter 35 – The Festivities Commence

A mouse crawled slowly along the skirting board of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. Sniffing curiously at every knot and nail in the woodwork, and presumably looking for either food or an escape route to some more interesting scenery, this was an animal who seemed very intent on being on the move. What was most notable about the animal was that it had only been a mouse for a minute or so. In its previous life, it had in fact been a decorative brass candle holder, and would now only remain a mouse for another few seconds. With a sudden flash of light, the small furry rodent became a dove, and proceeded to take flight around the room in a state of panic.

Harry lay back on his bed, following the dove's flight path with his wand, watching it with mild interest as it dodged around curtains and between bedposts. As it finally flew towards him, seeking out the human presence in the room, Harry decided that enough was enough, and with a subtle wrist motion transfigured his feathered friend into a single white rose that fell neatly into his lap.

He had been spending near enough every day for over a fortnight, transfiguring anything and everything that he could. Sometimes, he would use this as a distraction to stop himself from worrying so much about his dream of Sirius, but other times, he would use the dream as motivation to overcome the challenge that lay before him. Over the past week, he had taken to practising alone, after he had casually turned Ron's pillow into a pig while he slept. This incident had actually inspired to Ron to cautiously check the authenticity of his pillow before going to sleep each night, and Harry had no desire to cause more panic in his fellow Gryffindors than was strictly necessary.

It was as he lay there idly tearing at the rose petals that Ron appeared.

"You're doing it _again_, aren't you?" he sighed impatiently as Harry looked up, "I'm telling you, you're going to make yourself _ill_. What use are you going to be, fighting Dark wizards, if you end up killing _yourself_ in the process?"

Harry just looked back at him with a pathetic expression that said "Well, what do you _expect_ me to do?"

"You're hardly sleeping, Harry," Ron continued, "and you've practically been starving yourself. Don't think I haven't noticed. And now, I believe, certain measures need to be taken."

With these words, he drew his wand and swiftly summoned Harry's into his other hand.

"Y'know, I really do think the D.A has improved my charms no end," he smiled, whilst noting the annoyance on Harry's face.

"Give it back Ron," said Harry, rising from the bed and calmly advancing on his friend, "You know perfectly well I could have you begging for mercy."

"Erm, I think you'll find that I have your _wand_, you cocky git," replied Ron, raising an eyebrow, "and since my birthday is a good five months before yours, I believe it's time you showed respect for your elders and betters."

Harry's shoulders slumped in exasperation.

"Alright, what do you want? Spit it out."

"What I _want_ is for you to forget that you're saving the world for a moment, and have some _fun_!" Ron snapped impatiently, pointing both wands at him threateningly, "There's a Yule party starting downstairs and where are you? Stuck up here, wasting away! The way your name's been bandied around, anyone would think you're the guest of honour, and if you don't get down there sharpish, I swear I'll jinx you all the way to the common room!"

Seeing the dejected look on Harry's face, Ron had a good idea that this ran deeper than Transfiguration and Charms.

"Listen mate, wherever she is, I'm sure she's fine," he said encouragingly, "As a matter of fact, Mum's here right now, talking to McGonagall about her."

"What?" replied Harry in surprise, "When did _she _get here?"

"Less than an hour ago," said Ron, urging Harry towards the staircase like a farmer herding cattle, "I don't think she could've stayed away any longer. She promised not to embarrass us, and a bloody good job too, 'cause I think she's staying for Christmas. I suppose it's good to know that we'll all be safe here together, even though Dad's going to be at the Ministry for most of the time. Still, at least she didn't have to travel here alone."

"She wasn't alone?" questioned Harry, "You mean…?"

Before he could finish, they heard a loud explosion from down below, followed by excited cheers and gails of laughter.

"Yes," Ron smiled, "I mean…"

Fanning smoke out of their eyes as they entered the common room, Harry and Ron gradually managed to distinguish the presence of Fred and George, surrounded by a crowd of Gryffindor students.

"I think that one needs a little more work," George remarked, attempting to simultaneously clear the soot from his face and soothe the ringing in his ears.

"WHAT?" replied Fred, as he followed suit.

"I SAID - !"

"Alright, alright, no need to shout!" said Fred as he spotted the new arrivals.

"Harry!" cried the twins in unison.

"Look everyone, it's the man of the hour!" called out George.

The other residents of Gryffindor house had seen surprisingly little of Harry since the term had begun, and those in the lower years were now gawping in a way that had become annoyingly familiar. After awkwardly dismissing the blushes and glances of admiration from various young ladies, he stepped forward to greet the twins, who were still trying to calm the large group of prospective customers.

"Alright, settle down you lot!" Fred yelled, "Now, I'm sure Harry won't mind i us /i talking about this, what with it being a family concern, but the love of his life is currently seeking solitude."

There followed a chorus of sympathy from the girls in the room, with the exception of Romilda Vain, who stood snarling in the background. All Harry could think was how the pair of them had better be careful what they said on the subject, and how lucky it was that Ron was still in possession of _both_ wands.

"We don't know why, we're not going to ask any questions – " he continued.

"-and anyone who feels like pestering Harry about it may consider themselves enrolled in one of our many quality control tests – " put in George.

"A hazardous business to say the least," added Fred, watching everybody take a nervous step backwards.

"The point is," the twins then said in unison, "he needs cheering up!"

This roused a huge cheer from the assembled crowd. With some effort, Harry managed a smile and attempted to enter into the spirit of the occasion.

"So gather round Ladies and Gents," called George, hoisting a series of boxes on to the table in the middle of the common room, "and let us show you exactly how Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will be celebrating this year!"

Everyone crowded around the twins once again, curious to find the most innovative method for earning their next detention. Fred felt that it would be best to get the bad news over and done with.

"Now, I must warn you that due to various unforeseen side-effects, our Flatulence Caramels will _not_ be available as promised, but we shall be making the necessary adjustments to the recipe over the next couple of months. Also, a word about our vanishing aid products, before you all start asking the same questions. As much as my esteemed colleague and I take pride in our mischievous reputation, we will not, repeat _not_ be manufacturing invisibility cloaks."

"We _do_ have a brand new line of Invisibility Bracelets that will make your hands disappear," put in George, "as well as Invisibility Belts that will make you look like a floating torso, but under Ministry guidelines – "

At this point, there came a unanimous groan of dismay.

"- Yes I know, I know," said Fred sympathetically, "but they'll take our licence away if we start making what they call 'forbidden items'"

"Had four cautions this year already," added George with a beaming smile.

Taking a small blue paper bag from one of the boxes, Fred gestured to their eager audience.

"These, my friends, are among our latest creations," he proclaimed, "We call them 'Menthol Spirits'. Why suffer from having a blocked nose and sore throat this winter, when you have the option of _enjoying_ it?"

George then took a small green pastel from the bag and put it in his mouth. After only a few moments of shifting it around with his tongue, he gave an evil grin and opened his mouth with a loud roaring noise. A pale green mist came rushing out of his throat and took the shape of a huge, menacing ghost of an old man with rotting skin and jagged teeth. The students gasped in amazement, a few of the first and second years electing to hide behind the older Gryffindors. Without warning, the spectre descended with a blood curdling howl upon the crowd, most of whom leapt for cover as the twins glowed visibly with satisfaction, and vanished as it passed harmlessly through them and hit the floor.

"Clears the sinus like a dream, makes your nearest and dearest scream," declared Fred, as he revelled in the sight of everyone picking themselves up and looking a little embarrassed.

"Makes a handy breath freshener too," added George, savouring the menthol flavour.

As a round of applause slowly broke out, the two of them began opening up the other boxes on the table.

"Now, what we have here," said Fred, brandishing a small, shiny green pebble, "is the latest and greatest in anti-theft devices. Simply place in any trunk or schoolbag, and you may rest assured that your belongings will be well protected. Once this is done, any cheeky beggars who feel compelled to rifle through said container without permission will find themselves curiously unable to separate themselves from it, as well as being stuck to the floor until your return. Introductory offer, only five Sickles."

In the meantime, George was demonstrating Weasleys' Festive Eye Drops, allowing him to cry showers of bright sparkling stars, much to the delight of the younger pupils. As he rubbed the last of these from his tear ducts, he nudged Fred and gestured in Harry's direction. Fred nodded and excused himself from the table, beckoning Harry towards him.

"Quick word, if you don't mind mate," he said quietly, and seeing his younger brother in tow, added, "Alone please, Ron."

Ron opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but Fred interrupted him.

"Please, Ron," he repeated, "Harry may well tell you what this is about anyway, but for now, I'd prefer to speak to him man to man."

It was hard to remember the last time Fred had made such a request without a sly, scheming expression on his face, but he now looked so genuinely serious, that Ron reluctantly sighed and retired to a comfortable chair.

"So," began Harry, once they were safely out of earshot of the rest of the room, "Looks like business is going well."

"Don't let yourself be fooled, mate," Fred replied, looking decidedly down in the mouth, "This is about the only highlight we've had in months. Fear isn't good for business, and the Ministry aren't making things any easier. Did you know that they've been posting up notices in Diagon Alley _and_ in the back of the Daily Prophet warning everyone that some of the shops could be selling cursed magical objects? And what with _our_ line of business, we're top of the suspect list, with the exception of a few unsavoury traders in Knockturn Alley. We've actually been chatting to near enough every customer who's walked into the shop, just to see if we can design products tailored to their needs, and you _know_ that isn't the way we like it."

Harry looked concerned, but confused at the same time.

"Well, I wish there was something I could do to help," he said, "but why are you just telling _me_ this?"

"I'm coming to that," muttered Fred secretively, "So anyway, in the spirit of this whole market research initiative, we had our parchment and quills out ready when a fairly wealthy-looking witch walked into our place of business. I think she only came in to browse, maybe to cheer herself up a little. She wasn't too forthcoming at first, but we used our natural charm and eventually got her life story out of her. Turns out that while most people are worrying about You-Know-Who, she was just fretting over her marriage and how it was losing its spark. Truth be told, it didn't sound like there was any spark to _begin_ with. Now, being as sympathetic as we could, we told her to come back six weeks later, promising that we would have the answer. We sold her a few tasteful novelties to put a smile on her face, but our heads were already working on it before she even left the shop."

"And let me guess…" smiled Harry, seeing the grin on Fred's face.

"Yup," he replied proudly, "True to our word, we found a solution. Well,_ several _solutions actually, and the lady in question sent us an owl last week, expressing her gratitude and promising that she would do her best to send some more business our way."

Seeing Harry's continuing sense of confusion, he decided that certain loose ends should be tied together.

"One thing we'll never forget, Harry, is how you were the one who made this whole business venture possible, and with that in mind, we'd like to pass you a little token of appreciation."

Fred then made to reach into his pocket, then paused with caution in his eyes.

"Before I go any further, can I just have your further assurance that you have nothing but _honourable_ intentions towards our sister?"

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel offended, embarrassed, or take this as a perfectly acceptable question.

"You _know_ I do," he replied firmly.

Fred studied him for a moment, then slowly continued.

"Alright, here goes. I only ask, for reasons that will become perfectly obvious, that unless you intend using this as a prank on Filch…and I wouldn't honestly even advise _that_…neither George nor myself wish to know the slightest detail of how you use this err…gift."

Taking a quick look around to ensure that no one else was looking, he drew what looked like a small glass perfume bottle from his jacket pocket. It was filled with sparkly silver crystals that reminded Harry of the bath salts Aunt Petunia used to have.

"Of all the products we created over those six weeks, we consider _this_ to be the jewel in the crown. Only to be used in the most private and intimate of circumstances, Harry, I give you…_Insignia Skyclad_. One sprinkle of this stuff over your intended target and…well, let's just say there has _never_ been an ice-breaker like it."

There was a slight awkwardness between them as Harry took the bottle.

"Err…thank you," he mumbled, "Are you, uh, going to tell Ron about this?"

"George will sort him out later, but don't tell _anyone_, Ron included, that you've got that. It's perfectly safe, all tried and tested but if it ever got thrown around in public, the Ministry would have us for breakfast."

Harry nodded understandingly, then returned to his normal melancholy self. Fred sighed and gave him a friendly punch in the arm.

"Have you forgotten about a certain map that we gave you in your third year?"

"I've thought about it every day," Harry replied with a helpless look in his eyes, "But if I saw Ginny on the map, I would _have_ to go looking for her. She asked me to trust her that she was doing the right thing, and as much as I hate it, I just need to believe in her."

This was met with a grin and a shaking head.

"I know I should be glad that you're handling this so respectfully," said Fred with a subtle snigger, "but you don't have to be so sickeningly noble all the time. If that was Par…. I mean, if I were you, she'd be here right now."

Harry was looking at him with a deep curiosity now, as well as a hint of amusement.

"If that was _who_?" he enquired, allowing one corner of his mouth to curl into a smile.

"N…nothing…no one, doesn't matter," Fred replied hurriedly, clearing his throat and standing up so quickly that he had to steady himself, "So, yeah…I'd, um…better be getting back to the err…thing…Wheezes…George…"

With that, he turned around and stumbled back to the table where George was just coming to the end of his sales pitch.

"And let me remind you that the use of the aforementioned items within these walls is guaranteed to have you slung out of Hogwarts so fast, your feet won't touch the ground…"


	36. A Magic All Their Own

Chapter 36 – A Magic All Their Own

Later that evening, a selection of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students were to be found relaxing over a round of Butterbeers in the Great Hall. They were grateful that both staff and visiting parents alike had now left them to their own devices, but something was definitely lacking in the atmosphere. Hermione, despite the call for celebration, had her nose stuck in the Daily Prophet. Ron, who was regularly rolling his eyes and shaking his head at this, had grown tired of abusing his position as a prefect and was once again lamenting the loss of the year's Quidditch activity.

Harry, meanwhile, was being presented with a golden opportunity. As Professor Flitwick performed his usual festive decoration duties, he was struck by a flash of inspiration. With a few flicks of his wand, he sent dozens of Christmas tree baubles flying at breakneck speed around the hall. Many of the students yelped in surprise and leapt for cover beneath the tables as the professor stood surveying the chaos, barely able to contain his glee.

"Come on, Potter!" he laughed, "Round them up!"

Harry had been trying not to think about his studies, but he was more than prepared. After dodging several of the baubles that flew within mere inches of him, he drew his wand and sent a rapid barrage of spells into the air, transfiguring each bauble in turn into a bat.

"_Subtilium_," he breathed.

The charm sent the bats swarming into tight formation, from which they formed the shape of an eye that looked down and winked at Harry. He grinned and pointed his wand back at them.

"_Oppugno_!" said the voice in his head.

The swarm darted downwards in a singular attack and chased the surprised figure of Professor Flitwick twice around the Christmas tree, before Harry's wand twitched again. The bats flew up various branches of the tree and clung to them, hanging upside down. As he transfigured each one back into a decorative bauble, Harry received a huge round of applause, and the professor emerged, breathless and smiling from behind the tree with his own wand drawn.

"Sneaky, Potter," he said with a chuckle, "but I like it!"

Harry smiled back at him, completely unaware of the bottle of Butterbeer that floated calmly above his head and proceeded to empty all over him.

When the laughter eventually died down, Harry turned his attention to Fred and George.

"So, good day for you two?" he asked, wringing out his t-shirt.

"Marvellous," replied George, "If we did business like that every week, we could afford some bigger premises."

"Too bloody right," Fred agreed, "If people are going to lock themselves in their homes, they could at least take our catalogue with them and send their orders by owl."

"I don't _believe_ you two sometimes!" uttered Hermione in disgust as she looked up from her newspaper, "People are afraid, and you know perfectly well _why_. Just show a little compassion, will you?"

The smiles faded from the twins' faces. With the greatest restraint, Fred took a deep breath and stared squarely at her.

"Hermione, we've know you for six years now. We consider you to be a good friend, and hopefully one who will continue to assist Ron in his quest to become an adult…but don't you _dare_ talk to us about _compassion_! We've already got one brother lying six feet under, without so much as a decent funeral from the Ministry, and our home is clearly marked under 'W' in You-Know-Who's address book! Do you think we don't know what's going on? Of _course_ people are afraid! We're _all_ afraid, but if we just bow down and live in fear, then we'll have no life _at all_, so as long as we're still breathing, it's business as usual!"

"Oh, Fred, I…I didn't mean…" she stammered apologetically.

"We know," added George, pulling an enchanted Galleon from his pocket and holding it up to the light, "but if the DA aren't about to live under the whip, then I don't see that anyone else should have to either. We're as ready to fight as the rest of you."

Hermione smiled as the twins held their unwavering expressions of defiance. After a few moments, Fred turned to his brother, who still hadn't broken eye contact with Hermione.

"Maybe that was a little _too_ corny," he said quietly.

"I know, but it still sounded good," replied George quickly.

At that point, there came a ripple of laughter and wolf whistles from the far end of the table. As all eyes turned, Luna Lovegood stood up, obviously very upset, and stormed out of the hall.

"You know, for once she didn't look as if she had her head in the clouds," Harry remarked, before lowering his voice, "Do you think it's something to do with Neville?"

"Well, judging by the fact that he's currently got some poor youngster threateningly by the collar, I'd say it's a safe bet," replied Ron, rising to his feet, "I think I'd better bring him up here."

"Well, I suppose it's up to _me_ to go and see if _she's_ alright?" said Hermione with a raised eyebrow, "Honestly, I don't know how some of those girls can call themselves her _friend_."

As Hermione left in pursuit of Luna, Ron painstakingly dragged Neville back to where they were sitting.

"What was all that about?" asked Harry, moving up to make room for him.

"Bloody fifth years, saying Luna was a freak," he grumbled, "Then when I tried standing up for her, they started getting acting like complete knobheads about it and she walked out."

There were knowing glances exchanged all round the group.

"Neville, can't just tell her how you feel?" sighed George, "I may not have been around for the most part, but you blatantly have a crush on her."

"I…I don't know what you mean," Neville replied, blushing a little, "She's just a good friend."

"Who are you trying to convince, mate?" asked Ron as he nudged him in the ribs.

Neville went quiet and hung his head.

"I just…think…she's…special," he said finally.

Ron smiled and looked up at Fred and George. Fred rolled his eyes and grinned back, but George was staring at one of the doorways leading to the hall, as if in a trance.

"Special?" said George, still refusing to meet their questioning looks and turning Fred's head around in the same direction, "No, my friend…_that_ is special…"

Now all five of them were looking to see what had grabbed George's attention. Dressed in gowns of flowing deep purple silk with delicately shadowed eyes, both bewitching and seductive, the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati had just made their entrance. Exhaling in unison, with a long, admiring whistle, Fred and George followed their every movement as they walked into the Great Hall.

"That has got to be the sweetest sight I've seen _all year_," breathed George.

"Wow…" was all Fred could manage, as he felt his face turn a burning red.

Even Harry and Ron appeared distracted.

"You two may think that we're hopeless with girls," Ron remarked with a smirk, "but _we've_ actually _been out_ with them."

These were the words that made George look back at him.

"Ah yes, how could we forget your little performance at the Yule Ball?" he grinned, "Right old pair of Casanovas, _you two_! Do me a favour, Ron, just don't even _try_ using that as an example of your romantic prowess."

"Oh really?" replied Ron indignantly, "Well, perhaps you would both like to introduce us to your _girlfriends_?"

The twins were perfectly ready for a challenge such as this.

"Ask us that again in a few hours," said Fred, smoothing down his hair and straightening his jacket with a sudden boost of his old confidence.

With that, they both got to their feet, ready to display the Weasley charm.

"Ladies!" they exclaimed together, turning the heads of both Patil sisters.

"My brother and I have a proposition to put to you," said Fred, struggling to keep his complexion under control as his eyes met Parvati's.

"What do you say to the idea of being wined and dined by the finest, most eligible wizards ever to grace the halls of Hogwarts?" George enquired hopefully.

Taken aback, the two witches turned to each other, smiling a little. After a short whisper to her sister, Padma replied.

"Well, I suppose it couldn't do any harm. Just promise that whatever problem Ron had doesn't run in the family?"

"I can _assure_ you of that," said George quickly.

"The boy doesn't have an amorous bone in his body," added Fred.

"We think he may have been dropped on his head as a baby," George concluded.

With another mutual glance, both sisters nodded their acceptance, though knowing the twins' reputation still displayed a hint of suspicion.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" asked Parvati in her sweetest possible voice, "I mean, where are we going?"

Fighting against her almost hypnotic gaze, Fred grinned.

"The only place you _can_ go to find the finest Hogwarts cuisine at this hour..."

"Shall we…?" they said in unison, taking Padma and Parvati by the hand and leading them out of the room.

Ron and Harry were staring after them for quite a while after they disappeared.

"How…?" Ron began, "How…do…they…do that?"

Harry looked back at his friend and smiled.

"Ron, Hermione loves you to bits, I really don't think you need to worry yourself about that. It's just their way, I suppose."

A quiet sense of warm satisfaction spread through Ron at hearing this. The words were comforting. Even though he had spent so much time in Hermione's company since the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts, he felt that there was a part of him missing now that she wasn't sitting right beside him. He closed his eyes and her image was instantly burned into his mind. Her eyes, her hair, her mouth, the shape of her body, even her smell; it was all as crystal clear as if she were standing right there. No matter how affectionate he had tried to be over the past few months, he was now ashamed that he hadn't said or done nearly enough to let her know how special she was. This was too much to bear.

"You're right," he replied, getting purposefully to his feet, "I'll err…see you later."

So saying, Ron hurried out of the hall, leaving Harry both perplexed and thoroughly depressed. He had hoped the celebrations would help take his mind off Ginny, but now she was at the forefront of his thoughts more than ever. Everyone else, even Neville, had a piece of happiness that was at least within their reach, and yet here he was, waiting for what seemed an eternity for a girl whose life was currently far beyond his understanding. He felt anger suddenly bubbling up inside him, and was inches away from following Ron's example. His nails were digging into his palms and the urge to break something or hurt someone was quickly getting the better of him.

No, he thought. This wasn't right. Now was the time to be following Professor Lockhart's advice, as idiotic as the suggestion might have sounded. Taking a steadying breath, he turned his attention to Neville, who was now absorbed in the copy of the Daily Prophet that Hermione had left on the table.

"So," he said brightly, "How's the N.E.W.T revision going?"

He felt a little stupid and dull discussing school work when relaxation was the order of the day, but Neville wasn't listening to him anyway. He was instead looking dumbfounded by the article he was reading.

"Neville, are you alright?" Harry enquired.

Neville slowly looked up.

"Harry, I think you should read this," he said, pushing the newspaper in his face.

Inside the centre pages, Harry saw an animated black and white photograph of Ministry wizards emerging from a house with grim expressions on their faces, attempting to shield their eyes from the flashing cameras of the wizarding press. The headline above read _"ONWARD DOWN THE PATH OF DARKNESS"_. Taking a quick glance around them, Harry read the article aloud, keeping his voice low enough to ensure that only he and Neville could hear.

"_In a bizarre turn of events, we can now reveal that Narcissa Malfoy (41) has been killed in a violent altercation with Ministry Aurors at a muggle dwelling in the town of Maidstone, Kent. Acting on information gathered from muggle law enforcement officials, a team of Aurors conducted a raid on the house in the early hours of Wednesday morning. One of the team, Dante Kästner, was killed in the raid, and a further two were injured before the situation was brought under control._

"_She clearly had no intention of going quietly," a Ministry spokesman stated yesterday, "All possible measures were taken to ensure that would be no excessive force was used, but the death of the perpetrator was simply a matter of self defence. After a thorough search of the property, the bodies of five muggles, as yet unidentified, were discovered in a horrifically mutilated state. From noting the internal organs that had been removed from the victims, we were able to determine that Malfoy had been practicing some manner of ancient Dark magic. This theory was confirmed by the markings and incantations scrawled across the walls of the basement. There is no concrete evidence to suggest that she was in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but given the circumstances and her family associations, we are certainly not ruling out the possibility."_

_Narcissa, wife of disgraced Ministry official and exposed Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, had been reported as missing from her family home almost a year ago, and the whereabouts of the Malfoys' seventeen year-old son Draco has remained a mystery for the past five months. Unofficial sources claim that he too has been ensnared into the service of…"._

Harry's voice trailed into silence, his eyes now as big as Professor Trelawney's. It wasn't a matter to which he had given much thought, but now he felt sick with fear as he reminded himself just what Dark witches and wizards were capable of.

Many miles away, the very same newspaper article lay open on an oak table in a large stone cottage. The wretched figure of a young wizard sat shuddering gently in a corner with his head in his hands and greasy curtains of blonde hair plastered to the sides of his face. If Harry could have seen him at that moment, he would have concluded that the contents and implications of the article were slowly sinking in.


	37. A Spirit Shattered Asunder

Chapter 37 – A Spirit Shattered Asunder

There was a point, Malfoy reflected, at which only death would cause him further ruin. Perhaps the time would come when he would be greeting death with open arms, and for now, there were only two things pulling him back from the brink. One was the fact that to the best of his knowledge, his father was still alive. The second was a beautiful pair of eyes that came to him in his loneliness and attempted to comfort him by the light of a fire. The eyes, as well as the face that surrounded them, were locked safely in his memory, and there they would remain. The Dark Lord would have to kill him before he would give _that_ up.

The newspaper that had told of his mother's demise was lying on the table just a few feet away. His master was pacing slowly back and forth, glancing occasionally at the article as he passed and clearly viewed the event more as an interesting twist of fate. The opportunity to read the sad news at his leisure was the only true freedom Malfoy had been granted, but for all he knew, this could have simply been a source of twisted amusement for Voldemort. Now, he dared not shed a single tear in case such a sign of weakness would land him in even more serious trouble, if such a thing were even possible. He had dug himself a grave of epic proportions, and now it was just a question of when he would have to lie in it for real.

"A great tragedy, I agree," murmured Voldemort without the slightest note of sympathy, turning his snake-like features to the helpless individual sitting against the wall, "and I believe you deserve to hear more than just the ignorant ramblings of gossip mongers. To begin with, young Malfoy, you may rest assured that she did indeed die in my service. A most gifted witch, and perhaps one who could have proved a useful ally, but now I suppose we shall never know."

Malfoy's features contorted as he fought back the sobs that were waiting eagerly in his throat.

"Following your father's imprisonment, as you well know, she was unable to visit him, for fear that she would draw unwanted attention from the Ministry. As time went on, she began to ask me if there was any way in which I could reunite her with Lucius, but considering his act of treachery, this was out of the question. She grew most anxious when I requested that you become a Death Eater who would compensate for his mistakes, and her desperation became most distressing. Those who act out of desperation make mistakes, and your mother knew enough of my whereabouts and intentions to make even the slightest indiscretion unacceptable."

To hear Voldemort speak of his mother was like a knife being mercilessly twisted into the wound. He barely stirred and he was breathing as quietly as he could, as though he could make his master forget he was even there. Inside his head, however, he could hear nothing but his own tortured cries of grief.

"By the time you had fled from Hogwarts," the Dark Lord continued, "She had resorted to begging. She begged me to let her see her husband, she begged me to let her see you, her son, all the while insisting she would do me any service in return. Her desperation was bordering on madness and I could scarce afford to have such a liability on my hands. And so, _you _becamethe necessary leverage. As long as I was the one constant link between the two of you, I knew that she would remain loyal to me. I must admit to my shame, that I would occasionally place her under the Imperius Curse to give her an idea of the services that would earn my satisfaction, and if the _truth _were known, the Ministry would be recovering somewhat more than _five_ dead muggles. Though strangely enough, I cannot claim credit for this final act of Dark magic. This, I must assume, was done of her own free will; a final stab at attracting my attention, enough to earn my trust. I can't deny, I do have a great respect for her actions, despite their undisciplined nature. Doubtless I shall one day be able to satisfy my curiosity as to the Dark ritual she was attempting."

With all his strength and will, Malfoy summoned the power of speech, no matter how foolhardy it seemed. He no longer cared about the reaction his words would provoke.

"Please," he uttered, in a cracked, husky voice, "Please…let…m…me go!"

These words not only raised the head of Voldemort, but also that of a dishevelled, grim looking wizard who sat at the other end of the table in silence. Until Malfoy had spoken, he had been pouring over many pages of ancient, tattered parchment with a hand of gleaming silver, scratching down notes whenever he deemed it necessary. Upon hearing the boy's voice, he looked up and regarded him questioningly, unsure if pity was appropriate. Many of the Dark Lord's followers had endured great suffering and hardship, so why should allowances be made for this one boy?

"Let you go?" came the reply, both angered and disgusted, "I don't think you realise just how low you have sunk! Even your father wouldn't descend to the depths of such pitiful whining! You have not the slightest genuine pride in your blood, and I would even go so far as to say that you are a disgrace to the name of 'wizard'!"

Swiftly drawing his wand, he made two bold swiping motions through the air as if hacking his way through a piece of dense foliage. Malfoy cried out in pain as two large deep cuts appeared across the sides of his face and bled steadily down both cheeks. Voldemort stood over him, his teeth bared. As he watched Malfoy hold a sleeve against the wounds, his face relaxed a little.

"However," he continued, with a brief backward glance at the other wizard, "I suppose you can be of little use to me here at this moment. On your feet, boy."

Malfoy had, in that instant, all but forgotten about the pain in his face. He now stared up at his master, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. With the greatest of effort, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, forcing his aching legs to support his weight.

"Now…you may go," muttered Voldemort blankly, "You will be called upon when I deem it necessary."

"My Lord!" protested the wizard behind them, rising from his seat.

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed, turning on him, "Question my judgement _once_ more, Wormtail, and you shall be nothing but food for the worms!"

He then returned his attention to the boy, with a look of cold loathing.

"Get out of my sight."

Malfoy backed away slowly towards the door. He wasn't about to face forwards until he was out of sight. The first step was to get away without being cursed the moment his back was turned, and he knew that both Voldemort and Wormtail were more than capable of that. Groping about for the door handle, his eyes darted from one to the other. Wormtail was still trying to silently appeal to his master as Draco backed out of the door and into the greenery that surrounded the cottage.

"But…but my lord!" he whimpered pitifully, "The boy could go _anywhere_ and consort with _anyone_! Surely, we cannot risk him betraying you?"

The Dark Lord made himself comfortable at the table and turned to his quivering servant, a serpentine smile spreading across his face.

"Wormtail, I must say that your lack of perception never ceases to amaze me. Anyone with even the sense of a muggle would know _exactly_ where he's gone. The manner of his betrayal is certain, and his punishment assured. If young Malfoy believes he can wander beyond my reach, then he deserves every bit of the torment that awaits him. For now, all that concerns me is the names for which you have been searching."

Wormtail shuffled the pile of parchment frantically before answering.

"St…still only nine, my lord…" he stammered.

"Nine," breathed Voldemort thoughtfully, "Nine names…out of thirteen."

"They have been so difficult to trace," pleaded Wormtail, gesturing an apology to his master, "The records are incomplete and so vague…"

"Ah, now that is simply because you are not always aware of what you are looking for," he replied, "I shall render all necessary assistance to find the remaining four. Once that is done, this world will finally be brought to its knees."


	38. Darkness In Halls of Light

Chapter 38 – Darkness in Halls of Light

Harry was once again wallowing in misery. Not withstanding the efforts of Ron and Hermione to cheer him up, he had been unable to enjoy the passing of the New Year. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to celebrate. The sight of one girl in particular would have lifted him clean out of his pit of despair, and the fact that she was still alive _somewhere_ in Hogwarts just wasn't enough.

He had been escaping to the Room of Requirement whenever possible to take out his frustrations by running through some of the more vicious jinxes and curses he had learned over the past few months. It was his reasoning that this was best conducted in these surroundings, rather than risking an attack on another student whenever his temper got the better of him. And his temper was really starting to worry him. He had learned to politely excuse himself from the room whenever he feared that he would snap at someone who didn't deserve it, but this was happening with alarming regularity. Somehow, the happiness of others only served to grate on his nerves.

It was as he was aimlessly wandering the corridors deep in thought that Hermione found him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked casually, "I know Ron's been looking for you."

"What did he want?" grumbled Harry in reply.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, glancing critically at him, "Maybe he wanted his best friend back."

"Ron hasn't lost my friendship," he sighed wearily.

"Well, maybe you should tell _him_ that,"

Harry could only gaze at her in disbelief. Hermione took the opportunity to expand on this point.

"I know you've been miserable and I know you have a lot on your mind, but Ron thinks you've just completely turned your back on him. He didn't even start sulking like he used to, instead he's just worried that he's done something wrong to upset you. Harry, I really must insist you go and see him right now and straighten things out. He had another bad Potions lesson today, so I think he could do with a friendly ear."

There was nothing Harry could do but hang his head shamefully. Now that he thought about it, Hermione was right. He _had_ been far too absorbed in his own worries over the past fortnight to notice the people he counted as friends. At that moment, he could only reflect on how selfish he had been. After all, if he had never met Ron, perhaps he would have never found Ginny, and that thought was too terrible to bear.

"I believe you'll find him in the dormitory," smiled Hermione, seeing his thoughts as clearly as a Legilimens.

With a nod of thanks, he dashed off back to Gryffindor Tower.

Upon entering the boys' dormitory and venturing across the room, he noticed a very peculiar sight. Ron was crouched by Harry's bed, examining the base of the woodwork that had traditionally been obscured by a trunk. He didn't even look up at the sound of Harry's footsteps.

"Erm, Ron?" he said cautiously, "I, um…just wanted to talk to you."

No response. This was something _else_ to worry him.

"Look, I know I've been acting like a total prick, and if you want to freeze me out then go ahead, I probably deserve it -,"

"What?" replied Ron, suddenly looking up at him, "No, no…I was just looking at this. I can't believe you haven't seen it before."

Harry crouched on the floor beside his friend and joined him in contemplating the wooden border at the base of his bed frame.

"What exactly am I supposed to be looking at here?" he enquired.

Ron pointed to a panel near the corner. Carved into the oak with a penknife was the inscription 'J.P / L.E' inside a badly scratched heart. Harry would have liked to think that nothing like this could surprise him anymore, but as far as he could tell, the initials could mean only one thing; that his father had once kneeled on that very spot, and most likely slept in the very bed that he now occupied. Oddly enough, he felt more comforted than upset.

"It looks like this bit's loose," Ron remarked, indicating a hairline crack in the wood, "I didn't want to try pulling at it before you could see it yourself."

"Wonder how many people have seen this before…" murmured Harry, running a finger over the scratches.

Now that Harry had joined him, Ron had no moral dilemma about damaging the bed.

"Well, it's been repaired pretty well if anyone's removed it _at all_," he said as he tugged at the strip of wood, "Probably a bonding charm or something."

"Here, let me try," offered Harry, taking it at one end.

The small panel came away easily under Harry's grip, prompting Ron to give him a bemused stare.

"But…that thing was stuck fast!" he exclaimed.

Harry looked through the gap behind the panel into darkness. He reached inside and, after a few moments, felt his hand close around a small wooden box. Pulling it out into the open and dusting off his sleeve, he got up and placed it on his bed. Ron joined him in examining the curious find.

"Well, go on, open it," urged Ron.

Wiping the lid of the box, Harry opened it slowly and carefully. Lying on top of a pile of parchment was a photograph that had both of them lost for words. It depicted a Quidditch team celebrating a victory, covered in mud but gloriously happy. In the centre of the picture, waving a Gryffindor banner above his head, was boy Harry instantly recognised as his father.

"Wow," Ron smiled, "Why do you think he hid that under there?"

"I…I really don't know," replied Harry, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

He turned it over and read the scrawled writing on the back.

"_Dragged Slytherin through the dirt, 370 to 30! Life doesn't get much sweeter than that!"_

Harry closed his eyes as he held the picture, wishing more than ever that his parents were alive. Ron sat in silence. If Harry needed time to himself, he would be gone in a flash. After a brief pause, however, the photo was replaced and the contents of the box examined further.

"_Dear James,"_ read Harry, after unfolding the first faded piece of parchment, _"I realise you have a great deal of growing up to do, but that is still no excuse for embarrassing me in front of my friends! They can't stop teasing me now! Valentines Day it may be, but you can't just march up to me and say those things in the middle of the hall! Perhaps you could send your compliments to me in a more discreet manner, and preferably when your high spirits have calmed down. I'll be waiting… Lily."_

Both of them exchanged raised eyebrows at this. Harry couldn't understand why he wasn't sobbing into the sheets by now. Perhaps, he thought, he was just glad to know that his mother and father at least had some good times while they were alive. He was even wondering what kind of bold romantic gesture James Potter had made. The next piece of parchment contained the same delicate hand without the slightest ink smudge. This time, despite the passing of years, he could see that it had been previously folded into a more aerodynamic shape for ease of throwing across a classroom.

"_Alright, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you! Just promise me you'll act like the gentleman you claim to be. I did like the flower, by the way. How did you manage to get into the girls' dormitory without being seen? See you later, Lily xxx,"_

"Sounds like he was a braver soul than either of us," grinned Ron.

Harry nodded silently as he rifled through the rest of the papers. How had these gone undiscovered for so long? The box was littered with Quidditch strategies, which were, for the most part, interspersed with scribbling based around the general theme of the witch who would become his mother. As he reached the bottom, there was another photograph. This one showed a very handsome young man with a devilish smile on his face, standing next to a very pretty raven haired witch who seemed to be a little camera-shy.

"Isn't that…?" Ron began.

"Yes," replied Harry, "Must be Sirius."

Again, there was a caption written on the back.

"_Padfoot and Dorinda – together at last! They always did a lousy job of hiding it…"_

Ron looked very confused.

"I'm sure he never said there had been anyone special in his life?" he said, expecting this to be a closely guarded secret of Harry's.

"You know as much as I do," Harry mumbled, wondering if he would ever again be able to reach Sirius in his dreams.

Carefully packing everything back in the box, he decided that this was a piece of history that was best kept hidden. As glad as he was that his parents had been so happy together, it also served as a reminder of the happiness that he himself was lacking. He didn't feel angry, but he was still allowing his emotions to rule him as he sealed the box away under his bed.

The two of them entered the common room in time to see the Patil twins stepping through the portrait hole.

"Oh bloody hell, not again!" groaned Ron under his breath, "Every time they see me, they always ask if I've heard from Fred and George and if they're coming back any time soon. I still have no idea what happened with them, but they've left that pair completely obsessed!"

Instead of directing their attention to Ron, however, Parvati left her sister and approached Harry.

"Professor McGonagall said you have to go to the old Arithmancy classroom on the second floor at six thirty," she said sweetly.

"What, _both_ of us?" asked Harry.

"No, just you," she replied, and so saying, turned on her heel and swept across to the other side of the room.

"Oh brilliant, that only gives me ten minutes," he grumbled, glancing up at the clock, "What does she want with me anyway?"

The fact that the second floor appeared to be completely deserted was making Harry decidedly uncomfortable. Walking along the empty corridor, his every footstep echoed ominously off the smooth marble floor. With all the portraits that lined the walls, it was difficult to tell, but he simply couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Having finally located the disused classroom, he grasped the door handle with a certain degree of apprehension and entered. The suggestion of light inside was little more than the extent to which stars would illuminate a night sky, and he was sure that the room was now larger than it should have been.

"Professor?" he ventured, peering into the gloom.

There was silence. If this was somebody's idea of a joke, Harry thought, then it would be quite a while before could see the funny side of it.

"Professor, I…"

The wind was suddenly knocked out of him by a spell that sent him flying against the wall. He felt as if he were facing a hurricane that pinned him to the spot and was near enough blinding him. A moment later, he felt a charm working that sapped every bit of strength from his limbs until they were nothing more than four useless lengths of flesh hanging from his body. Until fairly recently, Harry's first instinct would have been to cry for help, but this was now the first idea he scrapped. Keeping himself as calm as possible, he focused his mind intently. Alright, he thought, whoever or _whatever_ it was had rendered his body helpless, so what now? The important thing was to concentrate and keep his mind well defended. One thing he had learned from Professor Lockhart was that the power of thought should _never_ be underestimated.

He wandered the halls of his memory as if browsing the shelves of the school library, and like a book flying into his face, the answer came to him. A wandless verbal spell. An incantation to draw power from certain offensive charms, hopefully one that would allow him to regain control. Summoning the words, he muttered them under his breath and, slowly but surely, the feeling returned to his right arm. Seizing the opportunity, he drew his wand and blindly fired the most powerful Confundus charm he could muster into the semi-darkness.

In that instant, the wind that imprisoned him ceased, and he fell to the floor. As he resumed full use of his arms and legs, he felt a sharp pain in his left ankle, having twisted it badly on impact. Dragging himself upright and hobbling painfully forward, his eyes strained to make out any shapes in the room. From the silence came a clattering and clinking noise that seemed to be that of a heavy metal object knocking against a hard surface.

"Who's there?" said Harry cautiously.

He then heard the sound of tight, rushing air. Something in the room was flying. And that something was flying _towards_ him. Staring into the gloom, Harry suddenly made out the object, and realised that he was on the point of being skewered by a deadly sharp steel halberd. Without so much as a moment's thought, he transfigured the weapon into a large cucumber and performed a shattering charm that caused it to splatter against him and the surrounding patch of floor. Alright, so he was covered in slimy pieces of cucumber, but at least he was _alive_.

Recuperating from the attack, he felt his wand slipping uncontrollably from his hand. Looking down, he realised that where his hands had once been were now a pair of horse's hooves. This was surely cause for alarm. His feet then felt strangely small inside his shoes as they followed suit, and on his four hooves, he fell forwards. Intending to summon the wand into his mouth, he resorted to the verbal spell, but instead of his own voice, he heard nothing but a horse's neighing issuing from his throat.

He looked down in panic as a series of thick ropes were conjured around his legs, binding them together. Before he could even consider his next course of action, he was being rapidly hoisted up towards the ceiling. As he came to a halt, hanging upside down with his wand lying six feet below him, Harry cursed himself for being such an easy target. He was certain there was a way out of this; it was just a question of focusing on the right details. It was something that he had been taught about the nature of Transfiguration, that it was possible to refuse change if you could defend your original form well enough inside your mind. But the change had already occurred, and retrieving his wand seemed to be all that mattered.

"_Accio wand!"_ uttered the voice in his head.

The wand lifted a few inches off the floor, then clattered back down. Harry could now feel that the ropes were gently swinging him around in a circle. He didn't have time for mistakes.

"_Accio WAND!"_ said the voice in a firmer tone.

This time, the wand soared from the ground and flew in a jagged path around Harry, a little way out of his reach. The circle made by the ropes was getting wider, and he was beginning to feel dizzy as they swung him helplessly around. Within a few seconds, he had reached a speed at which he couldn't have remembered a charm that would cease the movement if he tried. Looking desperately for his wand as it struggled to remain airborne, his mind cried out with frenzied conviction.

"_ACCIO WAND!"_

At last, as he made another wide arc around the room, the wand flew to him. He threw his head back, opened his mouth and caught it between his teeth. If he was going to get out of this, he would have to act _now_. Leaning his head as sharply to the left as was physically possible, he strained to point his wand up towards the ropes. His vision was blurred and his head was swimming this way and that, as he performed a severing charm. Before the spell in his mind was even completed, he heard a cry from out of the shadows.

"POTTER, NO!"

The ropes that held his hooves together split into pieces and Harry fell to the floor with an excruciating 'crack'. As he raised his head, he let out what could only be described as the sound of a horse in great pain. With his two front hooves, he weakly grasped the wand that had fallen from his mouth and pointed it at his feet. Concentrating as hard as he could, he transfigured them back to their natural shape. Then, anchoring his wand to the floor, he did the same to each hand in turn, the mournful equine cries accompanied by a face contorted in discomfort.

It was at that moment that he was hurriedly approached by his Transfiguration and Charms teachers.

"Harry! Are you alright?" enquired Professor McGonagall with great concern.

She pointed her own wand at his throat, and all at once his human voice returned. Harry gritted his teeth and clasped one of his injured legs with the one arm that wasn't broken.

"Filius, fetch Madame Pomfrey, he must be seen to immediately!"

Professor Flitwick thought better of taking the time to congratulate Harry on a brave effort, and hurried out of the room. With a wave of her wand, the Headmistress placed a Charm of Tranquillity on the boy, allowing his body to relax. He lay his head down and looked sleepily up at her. As he tried to speak, she silenced him gently and smiled at him in consolation.

"I do apologise, Harry," she began, "I thought you would have performed the countering spells far sooner, but nevertheless, you did far better than many would have done. The reason it had to be done like this is because your preparation for the dangers you will face is of paramount importance. We had to be sure that you were ready."

"Can't have done _that_ well, could I?" Harry groaned quietly, "I'd be dead by now."

McGonagall smiled and shook her head.

"Potter, Professor Flitwick and myself were appointed to our positions at Hogwarts for a very good reason. I doubt you will encounter many Dark wizards who employ anything more than barbaric hexes and curses, and in many cases, it is the more subtle and disciplined branches of magic that can be the more deadly."

Harry gave a small feeble chuckle.

"Do you think I could have a lie down, please?" he offered, before closing his eyes.


	39. The Last Tears to Fall

Chapter 39 – The Last Tears to Fall

"You really are a danger to yourself!" sniggered Ron, as Harry opened his eyes.

Looking around the hospital wing, Harry considered that it might be a wise decision to take up permanent residence there. It was, after all, about the safest place he could think of. Why ask Dark wizards to go to so much trouble when there was enough that could kill him inside the school itself?

Unusually, Ron was accompanied by both Neville and Professor Moody. Harry could only hope that the professor wasn't here to schedule a practical exam in magical combat.

"Are you alright, mate?" asked Neville, taking care not to lean on any of Harry's recovering limbs.

"I suppose so," was the glum answer.

Only a day had passed since his eyes had closed, but the table at the end of his bed was already piled high with gifts and get well cards.

"I wish I was as widely adored as you sometimes," said Ron, indicating the spoils, "They were _crowding_ in at one point. Madame Pomfrey was going absolutely spare, especially with those Larkin twins; stood there swooning over you for ages! I really should have confiscated their Honeydukes stash and sent them packing."

Harry was unable to raise a smile. He was still curious about the presence of Professor Moody, and wondering why life would never be simple again.

"Luna said she hopes you're back on your feet again soon," said Neville encouragingly, "She would've come along with us but she's in detention with Professor Sprout."

"What?" said Harry in mild surprise, "How did she manage that?"

"Something to do with not concentrating in lessons, I think," Neville replied.

Harry yawned and shook his head in despair.

"Well, perhaps if you asked her out like we all know you want to, then her concentration would improve no end."

Neville went very quiet, slightly red in the face, and shrank politely into the background. From the way Moody was studying him, Harry got the feeling that he had discussed the previous day's events with the Headmistress. What was bound to follow was a conversation that Harry really didn't feel like having.

"Don't mean to interrupt visiting time, but do you two mind if I have a word with Potter alone?" Moody growled.

"Don't worry, I'll be back later," said Ron with a nod, "I'd better go and find Hermione. She's been complaining all week about the titles missing from the restricted section in the library. I swear, that girl is going to work herself to death one day!"

Once the two of them were alone, Moody regarded Harry with both curiosity and suspicion. Even without the maniacal gaze of his magical eye, the professor had a way of unnerving _anybody_ if the mood took him.

"Harry," he began firmly and coarsely, "I've heard all about what happened yesterday, and I need to know what's going on. There's no rule to say you can't apply what you've learned in Defence to other areas of magic and you know perfectly well that there should be two Hogwarts professors recovering in here right now, not you. Did you hesitate? Is there something else preying on your mind?"

Harry turned his head away, a little ashamed that his teacher's words were so true.

"I…I don't know what happened," he said blankly.

"You don't know what happened?" Moody repeated incredulously, before leaning in closer towards him and speaking in a hushed, ominous tone, "The next time you speak those words to yourself, there may well be a Death Eater watching you die."

There was no reply to this. Everything was just so overwhelming, and Harry was in no state to face the grim realities of his life. Slowly backing away, Mad-Eye Moody gave him a look of warning.

"I suggest you do a great deal of thinking while you have time to rest. Don't give your mind a chance to slow down, Potter. I'll be testing your limits myself in the near future, so be on your guard."

With that, he walked away, his artificial leg clunking against the ground with every other step. Harry was wishing he had never woken up.

It was in the small hours of the following morning that Harry was awoken once more, this time with the distinct impression that someone or some_thing_ was in the room with him. He strained hard to hear what he believed to be delicate footsteps making their way between the beds. Reaching quietly and cautiously into the pocket of the jacket that lay on his bedside table, he drew his wand and pointed it out in front of him, whilst attempting to put on his glasses with the other hand. Squinting to make out the shapes in the room by moonlight, he could see by the movement of shadow that the mystery visitor had now reached his bed. He leaned over the side to look underneath, and could clearly make out two bare feet, quite obviously not human. Having reached a comfortable conclusion, he relaxed a little as he sat up, but still jumped out of his skin as he was suddenly confronted by the large glassy eyes of a house elf that stared humbly at him from the foot of the bed.

"Dobby!" he exclaimed, clutching at his heart as he accidentally jinxed a pair of pillows that proceeded to fight to the death, "I really would appreciate it if you could visit without sneaking up on me!"

He corrected the two pillows that were already shedding feathers and returned his attention to the now overly apologetic creature who had trotted to his bedside.

"Dobby is very sorry, sir!" he whimpered, fiddling awkwardly with the dirty pillowcase he always wore, "Dobby had to come and see Harry Potter. He knows Harry Potter has been hurt."

Harry sighed. He couldn't help but be quite touched by the house elf's unwavering loyalty.

"Well, Harry Potter will be just fine," replied Harry, "as soon as he can get his strength back."

He then paused and looked up at the clock.

"Are you still up cleaning at this time?" he asked.

"Oh no, sir, Dobby finished his duties some time ago. There was talk in the kitchen that Harry Potter had been taken here, so Dobby went to see Professor McGonagall to find out. He is on his way to see you, sir, when he sees your Weezy."

"My Weezy? Oh, right…" said Harry, remembering the name by which Dobby had referred to Ron during his fourth year, "What was he doing wandering around at this time of night?"

The elf looked completely mystified at the question.

"Dobby isn't quite understanding you, sir," he replied, scratching gently behind his ear.

"Well, you know, Ron. What was he doing when you saw him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry sir," came the reply, "Dobby sees his mistake. The young Miss Weezy. She is all alone and crying, sir."

In that instant, Harry knew that all hope of sleep was torn to shreds. He had promised that he would trust her, but how was _this_ right? He bit down on his bottom lip and dug his nails hard into the sheets just to stop himself from asking Dobby where he had seen her. It was only after a brief struggle with himself that he was able to meet the pitying gaze once again.

"Did she…see you?" he asked quietly.

"No, sir," said Dobby, shaking his head, "House elves is used to staying out of sight. Dobby sees that she is tired, Harry Potter, so very tired. She is reading, so Dobby doesn't disturb her."

Harry couldn't help but feel it was ironic that Dobby had no problem with rousing _him_ in the dead of night, but was strangely courteous to a witch in distress.

"Should Dobby have followed her, sir?" he enquired, anxious to be of service.

"No," Harry replied distantly, "I…I just wanted to know she was alright."

"Dobby wanted to know if _Harry Potter_ was alright," came the simple response.

"He _will_ be," said Harry, doing his utmost to muster a smile, "One day, maybe. Listen, Dobby, no offence or anything, but could I just be alone for a while?"

Dobby had already vanished before he even looked up. Some day, Harry decided, he would have to do something special for the house elf, to show him the gratitude he deserved. Too many were the times when he ended a conversation by telling the poor creature to make himself scarce.

In the meantime, he was busy raking his fingers down his face. How long could he stand this? Ginny had been 'missing' for over a month now, and Harry had all but given up trying to understand why. There was nowhere he could seek consolation. His two best friends were lost causes, simply because they had each other. Out of sheer desperation, as well as the knowledge that he would almost certainly drive himself mad if the same thoughts continued to turn over in his mind, he decided that a self-induced sleeping charm would be the only option. He turned his wand on himself and uttered the charm he had last heard from Ginny lips on the Hogwarts Express.

"_Soporum."_

Hoping that he would once again encounter Sirius on his nocturnal wanderings, his hand went limp and he collapsed into the pillow.

He had fallen into a sea of blackness, clawing blindly for any sign of light, or even a familiar shape. There was nothing for what seemed forever. Then suddenly, as if drilling a hole through the dark, a pair of red eyes appeared in front of him, providing just enough illumination for him to be able to make out his own hands. They glowed for a few seconds before the shadow of a thin bony hand crept over them, blacking them out.

Almost immediately, a shaft of light descended from above, allowing him to see that he was standing in a small dusty room. The floor was covered in broken glass, dirt and torn parchment. From one corner of the room came the sound of breathing, accompanied by the occasional sniff. Harry turned around quickly to see a figure sitting in the corner. As he took one step forward, the figure raised its head and the whole room was bathed in blinding light. Blinking rapidly, allowing his eyes to adjust, he looked again and saw Ginny staring back at him. Her hands were dirty and covered in cuts from the shards of glass. She held them out towards him and looked pleadingly at him as she silently wept tears of her own blood. The moment he reached out and brushed her fingertips, the room disappeared around them and she fell away from him, plummeting into a never ending shadow while he looked on helplessly.

He screwed up his eyes tightly, trying desperately to change his reality. Anything but this…_anything_. Feeling solid ground beneath his feet once more, he finally looked up. This time, he stood on grassy turf and saw tall hedges on either side of him. It was night time, but his way ahead was well lit and there appeared to be no immediate danger apparent. Treading cautiously along the path, he rounded a corner and found that the hedges were now marking out a junction. He could only conclude that he now found himself in a maze. This was no time to panic, he told himself. It wasn't the first time he had been stuck in a maze, though he preferred not to dwell on the memory of the last time.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from the left hand path, he felt about for his wand but found nothing inside his jacket. He flattened himself against the stretch of hedge and waited. Maybe whoever else was in the maze might just pass him by. Bracing himself as the sound drew near, he balled up his fists, just in case brawling would give him any kind of chance in a hostile confrontation. It was at that moment that he was startled by a very familiar voice.

"Harry Potter, sir!" cried Dobby as he rounded the corner, "At last I have found you!"

"Dobby? What are _you_ doing here?"

"Dobby has come to show you the way, sir!" squeaked the house elf excitedly, "Harry Potter must hurry up and follow!"

Harry took a deep breath, allowed his pulse to slow down, then followed Dobby around the twists and turns of greenery, hoping only that he was in the presence of a reliable guide.

"This way!" he called, moving so quickly that Harry had to break into a jog to keep up.

It was difficult to ignore the fact that the corners were placed far more closely together now, something that was beginning to unnerve Harry. After catching up with the elf, he voiced his concerns.

"Look, are you _sure_ we're going the right way? It just seems like we're just getting closer to the middle. I thought you knew the way out."

"Way out?" asked Dobby, turning his head, "Why would Harry Potter want to leave? We're nearly there!"

"Nearly where?" he replied, growing a little out of breath.

As they rounded the next corner, Dobby suddenly came to a halt, causing Harry to stumble forward a little.

"This is the place…" mumbled Dobby, before Disapparating with a click of his fingers.

Harry turned around sharply, but his companion had gone. He walked slowly and hesitantly into a wide circular clearing seemed to hold little claim on his interest. Just as he contemplated the task of finding his own way out, he noticed a silvery light appear in the middle of the clearing. The light flickered and slowly materialised into a sold object. A gravestone. Harry approached with apprehension, and as soon as he was close enough, read the carved inscription:

IN MEMORIUM

JAMES & LILY POTTER

CONDEMNED TO TORMENT - NOVEMBER 1981

THEIR SPAWN SHALL BE WIPED FROM THE EARTH

He stood motionless at the foot of the grave for a moment, then fell to his knees and cried out in despair. As Harry began to wish that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole, he became deaf to his own cries and heard only a cold-hearted voice hissing in Parseltongue inside his head.

"_Oh, for a worthy adversary! You would do well to just kill yourself now…and take HER with you!"_

It was at that moment that Harry awoke and sat up suddenly in bed with a strangled scream. His heartbeat raced like a galloping horse and his t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. As he sat shaking with anxiety, he turned his head to see a startled Hermione standing at his bedside.

"Harry, calm down," she said gently, "It was just a bad dream, that's all."

Harry's shoulders sank forward as he considered the possibility that his breaking point had been reached. Suddenly, almost falling off the bed in the process, he slumped sideways on to Hermione's shoulder. She gave him as much of a reassuring hug as she could as he broke down.

"PLEASE MAKE IT ALL STOP!" he howled painfully, "I JUST CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I DON'T WANT _ANY_ OF IT! I JUST WANT…I…just…want…her…"


	40. Love and Horror

Chapter 40 – Love and Horror

It had been an unusually frustrating for Hermione. The seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson had once again been a shambles, as any teacher or Ministry Auror supervising the class had been called away at some point, leaving the students to their own devices. If it hadn't been for the DA she would have given up all hope, and glancing around the classroom at fellow members, she could tell she wasn't alone.

She had headed straight for the library as the lesson ended, having been granted a pass to the restricted section, but yet again, she found to her astonishment that the books on her list had already been lent out to somebody else. These included magical history guides, placed under 'restricted' as they included chapters on ancient Dark magical rites and incantations, though quite why somebody other than Hermione had taken these away for casual reading was anybody's guess.

Finally giving up the ghost, she resigned herself to a thorough inspection of the last few copies of the Daily Prophet. There was rarely anything that related directly to the activities of Death Eaters, but the clues were there if you knew where to look. The occasional three inches of print would be reserved for concerns about various disappearances, but it seemed that the Ministry was very keen to keep their troubles a closely guarded secret.

It was as she flicked through the most recent edition that Ron scurried up to the table, cautiously avoiding the watchful eye of Madame Prince.

"Hermione!" he hissed, making her jump and earning him a cold glare.

"What _is_ it?" she whispered, slowing down her breathing to a civilised pace, "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, but I really needed to talk to you," he replied briskly, "I've just come from Hagrid's, and he said that Crookshanks has made a good recovery now so you can take him back to the castle."

"Really? Oh Ron, that's wonderful!" she said, throwing her arms around him and completely forgetting that she was annoyed.

"I was thinking…," coughed Ron, the wind having been knocked out of him, "Maybe we should bring Harry along if he's feeling up to it."

Hermione rapidly gathered up her newspapers.

"If I go and fetch him, could you take these back to the common room?" she murmured.

Ten minutes later, Hermione found herself standing in the hospital wing with Harry crying into her shoulder. This was a difficult situation for her. She considered herself to be a very understanding individual, but she couldn't pretend to know exactly what he was going through.

"Harry, listen to me," she said, pulling him upright and attempting to dry his eyes on the corner of the bed sheet, "There is something you should really get through your thick skull. There are people who believe in you, who know you have the strength to see this through to the end. They believe and trust in you so much that they will fight alongside you, come what may. They would die for you, if that's what it took. That goes for me and Ron, it goes for the Order of the Phoenix, and most especially for that girl you love so much. Stop thinking you're alone."

There wasn't a great deal Harry could say to this, and Hermione continued before he could even make the attempt.

"Perhaps you could start with a slightly more modest goal than leading wizardkind into battle. How about getting dressed and coming with us to collect Crookshanks from Hagrid?"

In that instant, Harry couldn't help but laugh at himself through the distress. She was right. Dumbledore had once said that death was not the worst thing that could happen to a person, but as long as Voldemort believed otherwise, maybe death was the only thing to fear. Rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes, he reached for his glasses and climbed out of bed.

The moment they set foot outside the hospital wing, Harry suddenly became aware that he was once again surrounded by the dangers of the outside world. Perhaps he had already been in a state of recovery for too long. Now was the time to toughen himself up a little more. One thing he was _not_ about to do, however, was venture outside into the frosty grounds of Hogwarts without gloves, and he was most grateful when Ron appeared with a spare pair. The three of them stomped across the grass to Hagrid's cottage, under the constant surveillance of two Ministry Aurors who stood at the castle entrance.

"You know, for a school with so many protective charms defending its borders, I sometimes think they're being a little over cautious," muttered Ron quietly.

"They can't help it," replied Hermione, pulling her scarf tightly around her neck, "After everything that's happened, I don't think I'd be taking a chance either."

As they approached the cottage, the door flew open and there stood the groundskeeper himself, holding Hermione's cat carefully in his hands. He smiled warmly as Hermione rushed up to him.

"Oh, Crookshanks!" she cried, taking the creature in her arms, "Thank you so much for looking after him, Hagrid!"

"Best ter be careful with 'im fer a while, mind," said Hagrid, "Poor thing's 'ad a hell of a shock to the system."

Hermione nodded as she delicately stroked the back of Crookshanks' neck. He was purring warily, but obviously happy to see her again.

"Erm…I don't suppose you two would mind if I had a quick word with Harry, would yeh?" Hagrid went on, a little secretively.

"Fine by me," shrugged Ron.

Hermione was too busy attending to her cat to really mind, and all Harry could do was look inquisitively at Hagrid as he followed him inside.

Troubled by his own thoughts, Ron slowly ushered Hermione down towards the lake. He had seldom had a peaceful moment alone with her, and now seemed as good an opportunity as any. She finally tore her attention from Crookshanks, setting him down to wander amongst the reeds, and looked about her, taking in the scenery she loved.

"Seems to be getting colder every day," she remarked.

"Darker too," murmured Ron in agreement, "even during the middle of the day."

The was a long silence, during which their eyes only met fleetingly. Hermione could tell that something was bothering him, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to ask. Ron then closed his eyes and took several long deep breaths before he dared speak. His face had become as gloomy as the sky above them.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" he said mournfully, "We're not going to survive this war. How _can_ we?"

Hermione was looking at him properly now, more in shock than anything else.

"Ron, why would you say something like that?" she asked.

"Because this school is all that protects us," he replied, "We're Harry's best friends, and that makes us prime targets. They're seasoned murderers and…well, let's face it, we're just a group of kids. Having the DA is all well and good, but something I happened to notice about the meetings is that there were no Death Eaters present. Are we supposed to stay here for the rest of our lives and hope for the best? I mean, you saw what happened to Percy and he wasn't even in _contact_ with us! How can we…?"

At the very thought of his late brother, Ron trailed into silence and lowered his head. Hermione, on the other hand, had heard quite enough.

"Ron, let me ask you a question. How many times have we been sent headlong into danger with Harry and lived to tell the tale? Have you ever wondered how things have had a way of working out? Yes, there has been tragedy along the way, but do you think it's all a matter of _luck_ that we're standing here now?"

She moved closer and took his hand, squeezing it a little as she continued.

"We protect each other, it's as simple as that."

Ron looked up at her, trying his best to smile at her encouraging words. He then turned his head quickly and pricked up his ears.

"What?" enquired Hermione, "What is it?"

"Err, nothing," he replied after a pause, "I could've sworn I heard something moving in the grass."

As Hermione took a brief look around herself, Ron hesitated as another thought entered his mind.

"Hermione…," he said, bracing himself as if about to be on the receiving end of some brutal hex, "There's something I wanted to tell you."

She was once again giving him her full attention, which made Ron feel even more uncomfortable. There was something about the way her dark eyes danced in front of him just threw him completely off track.

"What is it?" she asked.

Struggling to find the tongue in his own mouth, he attempted to verbalise his thoughts.

"Well…we've known each other a long time, and…er, I'm really pleased that we're, you know…together."

This wasn't going well _at all_, he decided. However, she was smiling at him, so he must have said _something_ right.

"What I mean is…," he stammered as he double-checked with himself exactly what he _did_ mean, "I think you're really…um…no, look, what I _meant_ to say was…"

Hermione took both his hands in hers and gave him the warmest smile she could. _Why did she have to do that?_ he thought. Now he was _completely_ lost.

"I…I just…" he began, "I think I lo…"

"Oi, you two!" came Harry's voice loudly from up the slope behind them, "You could've told me you were heading down here instead of leaving me to run around the grounds like a headless chicken!"

"Sorry about that," replied Heremione impatiently, rolling her eyes and returning her attention to Ron, "What did you want to say?"

"Erm…nothing," he said, glancing at Harry, "Doesn't matter."

The moment had gone, along with his nerve.

He gazed out at the horizon and was oddly struck by what he saw.

"Y'know, those are some _really_ dark clouds out there," he said as Harry joined them.

Hermione sighed in mild annoyance.

"Ron, we've already discussed the weather, you don't need to drag out the conversation,"

"Err, Hermione," said Harry, staring straight ahead in horror, "I think you should take a look…and Ron, I don't think those are clouds."

As the three of them squinted intently at the swirling, dark grey mass beyond the far end of the lake, there were cries of panic echoing from the castle behind them. With each passing moment, the shapes within the murky cloud became clearer and more defined. By the time Ron and Hermione had realised what they were looking at, their eyes were even wider than Harry's. Hovering around the magical boundary of Hogwarts was a swarm of over a dozen Dementors.

"What…the…bloody…hell…?" was all Ron could manage, as his tightened around Hermione's hand.

"I think the war's come to Hogwarts," breathed Harry in reply.

They then watched in disbelief as the creatures began to float out over the lake, lengthening their ominous shadow.

"But…but that's impossible!" Hermione protested, "They can't get into the grounds! There's too many protective charms, I was talking to McGonagall about it!"

"Perhaps those safety measures were put in place when the Ministry thought _they_

were in control," muttered Harry resentfully as he reached for his wand.

"Well, what are we supposed to do now?" enquired Ron, trying to sound as brave as he could.

Harry was far too consumed with rage to feel fear. This just wasn't right.

"Howarts is the one place I feel safe," he seethed, "He's not going to take _that_ away from me!"

With that, he pointed his wand in the direction of Gryffindor tower and closed his eyes with deep concentration.

"Oh, tell me you're _joking_!" uttered Ron incredulously.

"I really don't think he is," murmured Hermione, unsure whether to feel more scared for Harry or proud of him.

Within a few moments, they saw Harry's Firebolt racing broom flying through the air towards them. At the same moment, they saw staff and pupils alike pouring out of the castle entrance. The news of the new arrivals, it seemed, had travelled at an alarming rate.

"You're mad!" Ron exclaimed as the levelled out in its flight path and glided smoothly into Harry's hands, "I'm telling you, you've finally cracked! The whole Azkaban social committee is lurking out there, and you think they'll just scarper if you ask nicely?"

There were now Aurors making their way across the grounds as the crowd of students surged forward for a closer look and teachers attempted to keep order. Too many voices were shouting at once for the three of them to tell who was addressing who, until they heard "You there! Don't move!"

Hermione turned back to Harry.

"They'll try and stop you," she warned, "You'd better hurry."

"What?!" cried Ron, spinning around to face her, "Are you trying to _encourage_ him? I thought you were supposed to be the _sensible_ one!"

Before Ron could reached out and grab his friend's arm, Harry had already kicked off from the ground.

"HARRY!" he called after him, utterly panic-stricken.

"Why didn't you trying talking him out of it?" he moaned to Hermione, "He's going to get himself killed!"

She put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him earnestly.

"He won't get himself killed, Ron, simply because he's…well…Harry," she said, "And did you see the look in his eyes? Would _you_ have honestly wanted to try and stop him? He knows more about defending himself than any of us, and as his best friend, I think you should just start believing in him."

As these words lingered in the air, Harry was soaring at incredible speed around the outskirts of the lake and over the forest, taking care never to stray within arm's reach of the Giant Squid. The wind swept his hair back and stung his face as he rose high above the trees and tried to make out the movements of his foes. Slowing down as he drew near, he pointed his wand and harnessed the exhilaration of taking to the skies once again. The silver stag erupted from the wand tip and galloped through the air towards the dark creatures who were now clearly aware of his presence. The two floating nearest to him recoiled as they were blinded by the shining Patronus, but the group surrounding them seemed completely undeterred. Casting the spell again, another Dementor shrank away from the swarm as it felt itself poisoned by the light.

Harry seized the opportunity and broke into a dive, raising his wand for a third time. It was then that he felt a sensation that he had first experience in his third year at Hogwarts, only far more intense this time around. For some reason, he had failed to notice the two Dementors who floated by his side as he flew, and now a deep despair was slowly but surely gripping him from inside. Each positive memory was slipping away from him one by one. He felt weak, and began to lose control of the broom as the edge of the forest came into view.

"_Expecto…Patronum!_" he cried as loudly as he could, "_Expecto…Expect…_"

The spell became increasingly lacklustre as his words trailed off and his breath failed him. There were now three more Dementors who descended on him from above as the Firebolt began to lose height at an alarming pace. As Harry struggled to remain conscious, he could almost hear a hollow sadistic laugh, barely more than a whisper, from within their ghostly black hoods. He was aware of plummeting towards the last clump of trees before the broomstick flew out from beneath him, and he crashed unceremoniously through some surprisingly forgiving branches.

Upon finally hitting the ground, he tumbled over and over down a shallow slope and came to rest on his back near the edge of the lake. This barely caused him any discomfort, as every feeling seemed to have been torn from his body. It was as if it was as if the body that lay there was not Harry, but instead a pale, empty shell. He imagined that somewhere inside him was his soul, but judging by the Dementors circling like vultures overhead, this too would soon be leaving him. One of the creatures, having possibly made a bargain with the others, swooped down and lingered just a few feet above him to regard its helpless prey. The one thought that remained in Harry's head was that this was not the way things should have turned out. He couldn't end things this way.

Trying with every shred of will power he had left to stay aware, he took in the sight of the Dementor floating gradually closer to him. Like a kindly afterthought, it gave him back the gift of fear before preparing to take his life.

But now there was something else in Harry's eyes. A small, distant object that appeared at the far right corner of his vision. The object was moving very rapidly through the air over the lake and growing in clarity. It was a person. A witch or wizard who flew with great determination on a broomstick across the water. Just as the Dementor sank towards Harry's face, a blinding silver light engulfed them both. Despite the haze in front of him as he blinked, he made out the shape of the dark creature falling back in dismay. The broom, with its pilot, was now hovering steadily above the grass. Whoever it was had their wand drawn, firing a constant stream of blue light at the swarm. Whatever kind of magic this was, the Dementors seemed to be in a state of panic, and a few even appeared to be retreating.

"_Spes_!" Called a voice from the hovering broom, "_Audite meus vox!_"

Three of the creatures were suddenly paralysed, far from the picture of cold and calculating malevolence they would normally exude. The voice was one he recognised, though not as he remembered it. There was a feminine quality to it, but also a harsh and distinct rasp, as though this witch (as Harry assumed it was) had put her throat through some severe punishment recently. Harry himself could only try to keep a grip on his reality, still half blind and his head swimming with pain and despair. It was then that the voice called out once more.

"_Arbmu tu etrever!_"

The paralysis of the three was causing the rest of the swarm to fall back in genuine alarm. Following this last incantation, the witch fired a stream of silver light that appeared to ensnare them, as a hollow, deathly scream issued forth from beneath their black robes.

"_ETREVER!_" she repeated, "_ARBMU TU ETREVER!_"

As if freeing themselves from invisible binding ropes, the three Dementors flew upwards together for a few moments, before uttering a petrified shriek as they fell, and burst into a sheet of flames that spread across the lake. Their Dark companions quickly made their own fear evident, and rapidly escaped through the grey clouds that still hung gloomily in the winter sky.

Harry could feel himself fading again. His vision was little but a blur of dull light and darkness. His eyes finally closed as he sensed the figure of the witch floating smoothly down to land close by him. What must have been only seconds later, he felt a hand grip his own, and another on the side of his face. Feeling at first like it could have come from far in the distance, he heard a voice. Slowly, the voice drew nearer and began to grow in clarity, like the first rays of sunlight penetrating a storm cloud. Then all at once, he could not only hear but also understand the voice. Despite the words he was hearing, the tone was the most gentle he had ever known, almost maternal in nature.

"Can you hear me? Come on, you crazy bastard, don't give up on me now…"

Still hoping that he wasn't already dead, Harry began to will his legs to move. This proved impossible, so he started with the more modest task of moving his fingers, but to no avail. He felt both drained inside and devoid of all feeling, until he felt the touch of warm soft lips on his forehead. The nerves in his face slowly came to life and a tingling sensation spread through his limbs. He was alive, even if it was only in the loosest sense of the word.

"Harry…" said the voice soothingly.

At the sound of his name, his lungs awoke and his breathing steadily increased as he felt his eyelids open cautiously. His first sight was incentive enough to keep his eyes open forever. He could feel the blood flowing through his veins once again, and a sense of hope in the pit of his stomach. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

"There you are," smiled Ginny, "Don't worry, it's alright. You just look a bit shaken. Do you think you can walk?"

Harry considered. There was only a dull ache in his legs, which he suspected was down to a few bruises. He tried bending his right leg, which didn't seem to be causing him any discomfort, then did the same with his left.

"Hold on to me," she said, motioning for him to steady himself on her shoulders as he struggled to his feet, "Does it hurt?"

He managed a smile as he shook his head.

"Well, lean on me if you need to," she responded, guiding him towards the edge of the lake where a boat was approaching.

Together, they climbed carefully aboard, Harry following her lead in a slightly dazed state. He was still in no condition to question what was going on. As he looked out across the water, he was suddenly struck by the scattered ignited remains of the Dementors that continued to burn fiercely like rogue bonfires on the lake surface. Ginny sat down in the boat and pulled Harry backwards until he was resting across her lap.

"You know, this would look a lot more impressive at night," she remarked as the boat steered them safely between the flames, "Quite romantic, actually."

Harry tried to feel comfortable, but he was still attempting to piece together what he had just witnessed.

"Err, I…don't suppose you could tell me how you…?"

"Very old magic indeed," replied Ginny, gazing into the distance where a large crowd of anxious witches and wizards had assembled on the castle end of the lake, "As every magical creature is born, so is the means of its destruction."

As though connected by a long thread, the magical eye of Professor Moody was staring back at her. His thoughts at that moment were along the very same lines. Though a Patronus Charm was well known to repel a Dementor, it had been generally accepted that nothing could actually _kill_ one. He shot a dark sideways look at Professor Lockhart, who, he imagined, could very likely scam himself another bestseller from an incident such as this.

Back in the boat, Harry was appreciating the simple fact that he was alive and looking up into the eyes of the girl he loved. As she stroked his hair comfortingly, he realised that all the questions he thought would be burning holes in his mind simply didn't matter anymore. He would have liked to know what exactly what Ginny had been doing so secretively over the past months, and whether or not she had been able to overcome whatever troubles she had gone through, but now he was perfectly willing to wait for the answers as long as necessary.

"I told you I would find you," she said softly, "You did trust me, didn't you?"

"I can't deny, there were I few times when I thought I'd given up hope," he replied, "But you found me just in time, so I'm not going to complain."

Ginny gave him a smile and an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"I'll do whatever I can to look after you, but can you _please_ promise me that you won't do something like that again?"

"Only if you stay with me," murmured Harry.

They both expected there to be a barrage of angry, concerned and excited voices greeting them as they finally approached the school grounds, but instead there was nothing but silence. Bewildered, respectful silence. The crowds even parted straight down the middle as they came to rest on the bank, and even those who would have wanted to speak couldn't yet decide how to begin. Ginny rose to her feet and stepped from the boat, and without even meeting the sea of eyes that were fixed upon them, she turned to look at Harry who was apprehensively regarding the many onlookers.

"Well, what are you waiting for, a red carpet?" she enquired, before taking his hand and leading him up the slope.

They were all rooted to the spot, their heads turning slowly to follow Harry and Ginny as they moved resolutely towards the castle. Ginny knew it wouldn't be long before the first of the staff or Ministry Aurors found their voice or feet, and she quickened her pace, pulling Harry along behind her.

"You do know that they'll be wanting to speak to us about this sooner or later, don't you?" whispered Harry, jogging slightly to draw level with her, and convinced that everyone could hear his voice in the dead silence.

Ginny made a swift reply without even turning to face him.

"Harry, I have been hiding from the world for nearly two months, and it feels like an age since I last saw your face. If _any_ of them think they're getting their hands on you before _I_ do, then they are very much mistaken."

As they came to the final stretch of ground leading up to the castle, the two of them became aware that the entire population of the school was now in steady pursuit. From among the heavy trampling of feet behind them, the sound of two pairs of footsteps breaking into a run could clearly be distinguished. It was at this point, as they nearly reached the castle entrance, that they turned around to see Ron and Hermione approaching.

"Ginny?" uttered Ron breathlessly, "What the…? What happ…? Where have you…?"

Ginny walked a few steps back and laid a hand on her brother's shoulder.

"Ron, please," she said calmly, "Not now. Not yet."

Ron looked into her eyes questioningly. Then somehow, not that he could ever _explain_ how, he understood. Ginny smiled her thanks and led Harry inside. A moment later, Professor McGonagall came storming up to the two who remained outside.

"Perhaps you could explain what this is all about?" she demanded, "I will be needing to have a word with all four of you as soon as possible! I -,"

Ron then suddenly took the Headmistress by the arm and looked at her with a slightly pleading expression.

"Please, Professor," he replied, "Not now….Not yet."


	41. Where Creatures Awake

Chapter 41 – Where Creatures Awake

Harry still wasn't feeling quite himself. He knew that it seemed right to follow where he was being led, but the only part of his body of which he was truly sure was the hand that could feel Ginny's locked around it.

They were climbing. To where, he could not tell, and why, he didn't ask. She led him swiftly up each staircase, pausing only when the stairs decided to move, the two of them being keenly observed by the portraits that lined the walls. Harry was willing to trust in her sense of direction, but it was only as he was on the point of questioning this that he realised they could only be heading for the seventh floor. This floor, to the best of his knowledge, held only one claim on their interest, and he was desperately hoping that Ginny didn't wish to commence duelling practice while he was in this state. His suspicions were confirmed when she stepped off the final stair and made for the Room of Requirement.

"Ginny, I don't want to be a bother, but would you mind telling me what we're doing here?"

This enquiry was greeted with silence, and as they reached the familiar stretch of wall, she slowed down the pace and started muttering under her breath. Harry was just about to repeat the question, when he noticed the door materialise before them. Finally, she turned to him and beckoned.

"Come, please," she said, turning the handle and pushing the door open.

Harry followed slowly, curiosity etched into his face. As he walked in through the doorway behind her, he stopped short in astonishment and stared about him. The room could take whatever form and serve whatever purpose anybody wished, but never would Harry have thought he would have seen it like this.

Outside the castle, it was nothing more than a dull and cloudy winter's day, but the ceiling of the Room of Requirement was now enchanted to appear like the clearest night sky he had ever seen, almost like the ceiling of the Great Hall could be. There were oil lamps lining the emerald green walls in decorative brass holders, and at each end of the room, two golden lion figure heads were hung with water flowing from their mouths into large marble basins below.

Even with his shoes on, Harry could feel how deep and soft the carpet was. On one side of the wall facing him, there was an elegantly framed portrait of The Burrow, and on the other, a depiction of the local countryside with Hogwarts castle almost silhouetted against an early morning sky. In the centre of the room, with a curtain of silk hanging down the sides of its sturdy frame of oak, stood by far and away the largest and most comfortable looking bed Harry had ever seen in his life.

"I hope you like it," said Ginny at last, her eyes twinkling at him distractedly, "I can't tell you how restless I've been recently. Sometimes I wouldn't sleep at all. There were times when I thought that if I made myself too comfortable, my mind would slow down, and I just couldn't let that happen. But even when I was lying on tables, or just curled up on the floor, I was still thinking of you."

This was almost making Harry feel ashamed for having even enjoyed the comfort of a hospital bed. To think that witch he loved so dearly had been reduced to such a state was too much to bear. He took off his shoes, as though it were a matter of common courtesy and took a walk around. This must have been the result of a great deal of thought, as Harry had never seen the room appear to grant such a detailed request. Ginny was standing in the middle of the room shuffling her feet around hesitantly, and quite obviously very unsure of herself.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know…" she breathed, "I just…I've thought about this happening for so long, and…now that I have you here, I don't know where to…how to…begin. I…I...need you, Harry."

She looked at him with a sort of pleading panic in her eyes. Harry could feel his face growing hotter. He dared not speak, at the risk of making a complete fool of himself. This wasn't good. Where to begin? How to…?

As his hand wandered by his side, it hit upon an object in his pocket. Reaching inside, it closed around a small glass bottle, and all of a sudden his face began to cool down once more. _Insignia Skyclad_, he thought. This had _better_ work.

He brought the bottle out of his pocket and held it up to the light as he uncorked it. Ginny was staring at it with great curiosity and wondering whether Harry was simply trying to change the subject. He stepped forward and took a deep breath, then gave the bottle a quick shake, sending a small shower of the sparkling crystals down Ginny's front. She quickly closed her eyes and flinched, wondering momentarily if Harry had gone mad.

"Harry, what are you…?"

She was driven into a stunned silence as she looked down. Her robes, her t-shirt, her jeans, her socks and shoes, and even her underwear were now lying in a neatly folded pile at her feet. For a few seconds, she could barely speak, and quickly folded her arms across her chest as a desperate gesture of modesty.

Harry, meanwhile, was in a state of equal shock. He wasn't prepared for this, he didn't know where to look, and was now afraid that she would never speak to him again.

"You…cheeky git!" she exclaimed, amusement slowly spreading across her face, "Do I even need to _ask_ where you got that stuff?"

Opening his mouth a little to attempt an explanation, Harry immediately thought the better of it, and now his face was approaching melting point. Even the creature inside him was struck dumb, though still capable of making his heart thunder along faster than he could handle. After taking a moment to examine the situation, Ginny came to the conclusion that shock and embarrassment wouldn't do them any good in the end.

"Well, Harry," she said, allowing her posture to relax, "I have to say I'm very flattered that you were that impatient to…um…_see_ me."

She then let her arms fall to her sides and walked slowly towards him. This, Harry could hardly deny, was the most magical sight he had ever beheld. He couldn't look away even if he had wanted to, and now found himself studying intently the beautiful creature that approached him. The light from the oil lamps danced on her skin, and reflected in her stunning green eyes that complimented the colour of the room so perfectly. Her flowing waves of fiery red hair, though tangled in places, was more entrancing than he had ever seen it, and the glow from the wall behind gave a glorious definition to her shapely form.

Harry was so bewitched by the body he so longed to caress that he barely noticed her hand reaching out and delicately removing the bottle from his hand. His eyes were now helplessly imprisoned in hers, and Ginny was perfectly prepared to take advantage of his temporary hypnosis.

"Hardly _fair_ though, is it?" she smiled, raising her eyebrow and sprinkling the crystals over him.

Feeling the warmth of the room directly on his skin was enough to shake Harry back into reality. Before he could even express his surprise or embarrassment, she threw her arms around his neck and commanded his full attention once again. She was all but fighting back tears of happiness as she gazed dreamily into his eyes.

"Come here, you idiot…"

With these words, she pulled him into the deepest, most passionate and loving kiss he had ever experienced. Every one of his senses was set ablaze at the firm and sensuous touch of her lips. He could hear the subtle fizzing of the flames that lit the lamps, the soft sound of Ginny's breath, and inside his head, he could hear the creature that lay in the pit of his stomach singing anthems of celebration. As he inhaled, he caught all the sweet aromas she always carried with her, but stronger than ever before, and even more so than he remembered when smelling the Amortentia potion in his previous year.

The taste of her mouth was like the most exquisite strawberries he had ever known, that somehow satisfied a hunger and quenched a thirst at the same time. As her tongue curled gracefully around his own, he could almost feel _her_ hunger, as if she too had a creature of desire inside her.

The feeling of her body being held so closely against his, however, was something Harry would never be able to describe in words, not even if he could outlive the world itself. Like poetry that could never come to an end, and never so much as scratch the surface of sensations he felt. The Imperius Curse could not possibly compare to the spell under which she now held him with her touch alone.

As for his sight, it was now something that he could almost take for granted. She was there in his eyes whether they were open or closed.

When their lips finally parted, Harry felt her take him by the hand and lead him across the room. His feet were moving as normal, but all his mind could feel was that he was floating forward, led by his guardian protector. Everything seemed to be happening so slowly and yet so suddenly. He savoured the sensation on his fingertips as he traced the smooth line of her neck and delighted in her soft gasps of pleasure as he planted kisses along the same path. He closed his eyes as he felt her pull him on to the bed.

"Harry, look at me," she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. He was looking down on her. All of a sudden he began to tense up and struggle to disguise the note of panic in his breathing. During their brief conversations, the creature inside him had told him that this was something for which he should be prepared. The truth was, he _knew_ he wouldn't be, no matter what kind of advance warning he had been given. One thing of which the creature _hadn't_ reminded him was that Ginny Weasley was among the kindest, most understanding witches he had ever known.

"Shh, it's alright," she whispered soothingly, "It's me…"

At the sound of her voice, his anxiety melted away and a slow, steady calm spread through him from his neck downwards. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile as she reached down and gently guided him inside her.

"Oh…!" she breathed ecstatically as Harry leaned down and marked a trail of his affections that started on her lips and carried on downwards beyond the base of her throat.

A moment later, she arched her neck and winced slightly in a gesture of farewell as she parted ways with her innocence. In the same instant, several things happened. The oil lamps on the wall exploded into raging beacons of fire that roared towards the starry ceiling. Every one of the school owls suddenly took flight from the Owlery and circled the rooftops of the castle, shedding feathers in panic as they flew.

For the space of a few seconds, the voice of every other witch and wizard in Hogwarts was silenced, as though the sound had simply been stolen out of the air. The only voice to be heard, strangely enough, was that of the Fat Lady in the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room. Never renowned for her vocal talents, she had suddenly been roused from a daydream, and found herself singing a passage from an eighteenth century opera in such dulcet tones that many within close earshot had to stop themselves from weeping.

Ginny's head was lost in a cloud of euphoria. She had lost all track of time when she breathlessly laid her head on Harry's shoulder and placed an arm across his chest. Feeling her arm reach over and tighten around him, Harry stopped caring about the heat in the room, and held her as tightly as he could. Nothing could possibly be wrong with the world, he told himself. How could it be? _If this be a dream, so let me_ _sleep_, the creature inside him agreed.

All there was to be heard in the room was the air of the flames in the lamps as they settled themselves at last. It was Ginny who finally broke the silence.

"Harry?" she said.

"Yes?"

"I don't want to leave here," she continued after a pause, "I know there is so much we must do, but I just feel like I could stay like this forever."

Harry sighed.

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," he replied, "I don't think life has ever felt this wonderful. We can stay here as long as you want."

He took a few moments to savour the atmosphere, when a question came out of nowhere and charged to the front of his mind.

"Err, Ginny, do you think I could ask you something?"

"Anything," she smiled, curling one of her legs around his.

"It's been a long time since I've been taught about this at school, but I…since we've just…you know…" he began, completely unsure about the best way to broach the question, "I thought that would, well, make you…"

Ginny hardly needed to make use of her powers as a Legilimens to see what he was driving at, and lifted her head as she put him out of his misery.

"Oh, Harry!" she giggled, "You know, I just forget sometimes that you grew up around muggles."

Noting how genuinely uncomfortable he seemed, she straightened her face.

"Okay, here's how it works. When witches are about eleven or twelve, after they've been taught the obvious facts of life, their mums usually teach them the proper, well, _precautions_. It's a bit difficult to explain. We have this way of 'choosing' if we want to have a baby or not."

"Some kind of spell or something?" he enquired.

She leant her head to the side and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.

"Just a little something I uttered in my head while we were kissing…" she said, before quickly adding, "Not that I wouldn't want to _one day_, it's just…"

"A little too soon?" Harry suggested.

She nodded at him and smiled back at him before sighing and sinking happily back into his arms. Harry, meanwhile, was casually turning the idea of parenthood over in his mind, and was half-wishing that he was able to ask his own parents what it was like. He was grateful when Ginny interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm serious, Harry, couldn't we just stay in here?"

He gave this matter careful consideration.

"Well…" he replied slowly, "I suppose we could schedule a D.A meeting for some time next week and tell them the redecorations just took longer than expected."

Both laughing at the absurdity of the idea, they proceeded to thoroughly tangle each other up in the bed covers before calming themselves.

"Promise you won't hide yourself away again?" asked Harry.

"I promise," she replied, without a moment's hesitation, "It's been painful enough already. You're stuck with me now."

He kissed the top of her head and absent-mindedly played with her hair until they both surrendered to the welcome call of sleep. This was the most blissful rest Harry had ever known, if only for the fact that he found himself dreaming of what had just happened. This was what he wanted in his life, he decided. This was worth fighting for.


	42. Ginerva's Tale

Chapter 42 – Ginerva's Tale 

The ticking of the clock in the Gryffindor common room had never particularly bothered Ron until now. At this moment, he would have liked nothing better than to pull it off the wall, smash it to pieces and throw into the fireplace. Not a trace had been seen of Harry or Ginny for many hours now, and for once he had decided to follow Hermione's example of using N.E.W.T revision to pass the time and take his mind off the events of the day. He was actually surprised at how much knowledge he had been able to absorb without even realising it, but that clock, reminding him of the sluggish passing of each second, was driving him mad.

After his sister and his best friend had disappeared together that morning, he had managed to persuade the Headmistress to allow the two of them some time alone, but now it was late in the evening, and he thought at least that one of them could have come to offer him a few words of explanation. Hermione could tell when his thoughts were drifting to this matter, and couldn't deny that her natural curiosity was allowing her to sympathise.

"Ron, you're doing it again," she muttered, barely glancing up from her revision notes, "I'm sure they'll show themselves before long. Do you honestly think that Harry would let us worry like this now that Ginny's come back?"

"Absolutely," Ron replied without a second thought, "I wouldn't put anything past him. You'd have thought that after everything that's happened, the least they could do is show their friends a bit of solidarity. In fact, if they don't appear in the next five minutes, I'll exercise my right as a prefect to patrol the halls at night."

Hermione was rolling her eyes, but she couldn't help finding Ron very attractive when he decided to exert his authority. There was also part of her that was every bit as impatient to find out what had happened.

"Oh, sod it then, let's just go!" she exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm and carefully avoiding Crookshanks as she pulled her astonished boyfriend out through the portrait hole.

"I must admit, this is quite an adventurous attitude you're taking," grinned Ron as he struggled to keep up with Hermione's brisk walking speed.

"Well, anything to stop you complaining is all to the good," she replied.

They passed along corridors, up and down staircases, through halls and passageways, checking classrooms and empty studies as they went. The teachers and Aurors making their regular nightly rounds all recognised the two of them as prefects by now and allowed their presence to go unchecked.

"Never seems exciting anymore, does it?" Ron remarked wistfully, as they exhausted the possibilities of yet another corridor.

"What are you talking about?" replied Hermione, sketching out a mental map of Hogwarts to see which parts had still to be searched.

"You know, there's no need to hide from teachers, no threat of punishment. I actually used to think that the courage of a Gryffindor could be measured by how badly you could annoy Filch during the night without getting caught."

"All part of growing up, Ronald," she sighed.

As they stood on the ground floor, gazing at the vast structure that loomed overhead, Hermione began gritting her teeth in frustration.

"There must be _somewhere_ I'm overlooking!" she hissed.

"Well, do you want to split up and look again, or shall we summon the D.A and send out a search party?"

"What did you…? The D.A…" Hermione replied, before clarity overcame her, and she kissed him savagely on the lips, "Ron, you're a genius!"

Trying to get his head around this kind of praise, he hastened after her as she went flying up the stairs. It was a little frightening to see just how accurately Hermione could predict the movement of the staircases, never once pausing on her ascent through the castle.

"Would you just…slow…down for one…moment?" gasped Ron, "If you're…going…where I think…you're…going…"

"Yes I am," she said, "Where else could they be so well hidden?"

As they reached the seventh floor, Hermione stopped to consider the situation, Ron pointed out exactly what she was thinking.

"You do know that if they _are_ in there, we'll still have to wait until they want to leave."

"Yes, indeed Ron, I _had_ thought of that," she sighed, before looking back at him with a grin and a raised eyebrow, "All depends on what they're doing in there, I suppose."

A look of genuine alarm spread over his face as he glared at her.

"Don't even _think_ that," he muttered.

Her smile widened.

"Do you want to go back and let me wait for them?" she enquired.

"Ooh, no!" he replied quickly, "No, no, no, we've come this far, and I'm staying put!"

They stood against the wall in silence, both attempting to appear more unruffled than the other.

"They probably _aren't_ in there at all," said Ron at last, "Just you wait, we'll probably find that they've gone back to Gryffindor while we were out on this wild goose chase."

"If memory serves, it was _you_ who suggested this night time stroll, so don't…wait a second…"

Her eyes were fixed on the stretch of wall ahead of them, where the outline of a doorframe was appearing.

"Ron," she began slowly, "Did you ask the room to become anything?"

He shook his head.

"Nope, you?"

A door handle had now appeared.

"Alright, listen to me," she whispered in quick, harsh tones, "You are _not_ about to start shouting the odds at them! They've been apart for a long time, and they probably had a lot to talk about, and that's why you stopped all the staff from bolting after them in the first place, so whatever happens, just stay _calm_!"

"What do you mean?" he replied, outraged at her accusations, "I'm perfectly calm! I'm the picture of 'calm'! Why would I be angry? All I want to know is what she was doing over the past couple of months and what the hell happened this morning."

Hermione studied him for a moment.

"Well, as long as you're sure you can be mature and understanding about this…"

"_Yes_!" he hissed irritably.

They braced themselves as they watched the handle turn and the door slowly open. Whoever was on the other side was obviously being as cautious as they were. Then, sure enough, Ginny's features appeared from behind the door.

"Oh, thank goodness you're safe and well!" beamed Ron with somewhat too much enthusiasm, "We were so worried!"

He looked sideways at Hermione for approval before continuing, as Harry also emerged from the room.

"_There_ you are, Harry!" he said with the same, almost painful smile, "You know, for a while, I thought we'd never…"

Ron then broke off, his face suddenly frozen in an image of pure horror.

"Oh…my…!" he gaped, allowing his eyes to expand, "Oh, bloody hell! You've been _doing it_, haven't you?!"

"_Ron_!" Hermione exclaimed, "You're not exactly being…"

"Hermione, you don't understand! It'll take me _years_ to get that image out of my head! Oh no, oh no…"

He was now pacing back and forth, massaging his temples furiously, while Harry and Ginny couldn't help but stifle laughter.

"Ron, listen to me…" began Harry at last, advancing on his friend.

"Get away!" he warned fearfully, backing off a few steps.

"Look, maybe you'd better go back to the dormitory and get some sleep," Hermione suggested, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

Giving her a vaguely startled look, he nodded and headed back towards the stairs. All they managed to catch from his rhetorical mutterings were the words "…Lockhart, first thing in the morning…!"

She turned back to Harry and Ginny with an expression of humble apology. Harry had stopped grinning, and was instead looking deeply puzzled.

"Okay, I can understand him jumping to conclusions, but…how could he have been so sure?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling a little at his ignorance.

"Harry, your t-shirt is inside out," she said calmly, "Your neck looks like its been battered by a pair of quidditch beaters, Ginny's still carrying her shoes, and the two of you are glowing like a couple of fireflies. I was just hoping that Ron wouldn't notice."

"Do you think that now would be a good time to have a word with him?" he enquired.

Hermione paused to think for a moment.

"Actually, on this occasion, I think it would be best coming from Ginny. You two come with me and wait in the common room while I go and get him."

It was approaching midnight when they were all at last assembled, silent as the grave, around the fire in Gryffindor tower. The atmosphere could be cut with a knife, and only Ginny was daring to attempt eye contact with any of the others. Though Ron was determined to study each ember of the fire in depth, she decided that enough was enough.

"Ron, I need you to look at me," she said, slowly and carefully, "You may not _want_ to, but the sooner you do, the easier it will be."

With the greatest of efforts, he managed a wavering sideways glance at his sister.

"This is obviously difficult for you, but I know you'll feel better if we talk about it,"

This was the first time she had ever spoken to him in such a way, but his sulky expression held fast.

"Look, you might think I'm being completely childish about this, but I'll deal with it in my own way and in my own time," he grumbled.

"But this is the whole point!" she snapped suddenly, "You shouldn't have to 'deal' with it; you should be able to accept it!"

She composed herself and softened her tone.

"Honestly, Ron, nothing has changed. Harry's still your best friend, and I'm still your sister. Nobody is about to take that away. He didn't take advantage of me, or violate my honour or anything."

"That doesn't make it alright for me though," Ron retorted, returning his attention to the fireplace.

"Oh, for f…!"

"Ginny, I think the delicate touch was working better," cut in Harry as he rose to his feet and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "Mind if I say something?"

Seeing her gesture of consent, Harry turned to the wizard who had been the closest thing he had ever known to a brother.

"Ron, I know what you're thinking, and that's got nothing to do with Legilimency. You still see Ginny as the little girl who came to see us off on the train for our first year at Hogwarts, and I can imagine it's tough for you thinking that she's all grown up. I'd probably be the same if I'd ever _had _a sister. All I can say is that about twelve hours ago, I thought I was going to die. She didn't just risk her life to save mine, but she killed a Dementor! Ask any teacher or Auror in this school…well, any _living_ ones

anyway, and they'd tell you that was impossible! Do you still think she can't make her own decisions or take care of herself? I know _I_ wouldn't want to be the next person to raise their wand against her!"

He could see that Ron understood the point he was making, but still there came no reply.

"Now, like she said, nothing has changed. I'm not trying to steal your sister away from you. If you think I'm not good enough for her, then come out and say it. I'm not about to start discussing what we got up to, so there's really no reason for you to panic. It happened because we love each other, simple as that."

He felt Ginny hugging his leg as she heard these words. Everybody in the room could almost hear Ron gritting his teeth as he struggled with himself.

"Alright!" he fumed, turning to the three of them, "You're right, you're all right! I shouldn't have reacted like that!"

Coming to the conclusion that breathing was perfectly acceptable, he slowly exhaled and managed a brave smile as he continued.

"Of course you're good enough, mate. No one else would be, mind you, so I hope you know how lucky you are."

Harry looked down at Ginny and stroked her hair.

"Don't worry, I know," he said.

Hermione, who by now was feeling very guilty of neglect, rushed to her boyfriend's side and held him in a vice-like grip.

"Oh Ron, you're now _officially_ my hero!" she squealed.

"I'll choose to believe that for now," he coughed, recovering from the surprise attack.

As they all sat down once again, Harry addressed them all.

"And now, I believe the floor belongs to Ginny."

There was another deadly hush as all eyes turned to the youngest Weasley. She wasn't looking back at them at all. Instead, she took out her wand and gazed at it intently, as if only just seeing it for the first time. Her mind was travelling back as far as she could remember, and all the while she pondered the appropriate place to begin. Would they understand? She could only hope so. The silence seemed to be lasting forever, and Ron was just about to speak when Ginny finally opened her mouth.

"I know I haven't been myself for a while now," she said quietly, "and I know you all deserve an explanation. Hermione, I know I owe you and, well, Crookshanks an apology."

At the mention of Hermione's cat, they all suddenly looked down to see him brushing affectionately against Ginny's leg. She gently picked him up and placed him on her lap, where he made himself thoroughly comfortable.

"I do hope he forgives me," she smiled, as she tickled him softly under the chin.

"Looks like it to me," remarked Ron, sharing the surprise of the other two.

Ginny's solemn face returned as they watched the fire's reflection in her eyes.

"There are things I can't tell _anybody_, and you'll just have to forgive me for that. All I can do is try and explain what's been happening since July."

Even with the understanding she had acquired, this wouldn't exactly be an easy task. It was as if Ron, Hermione, and even Harry were standing on the other side of a solid brick wall, and now it was down to Ginny to knock out a few bricks to allow them at least clear glimpse of her side. There were indeed things she couldn't tell them, for their own safety if nothing else, and once again, she could only _hope_ they would understand with the passing of time.

"When Dumbledore died, I knew things would change. I just didn't realise how big the change would be."

They were hanging on her every word. All three could tell that there was something different about her now. She seemed to be commanding the kind of riveted attention that only the late Headmaster could.

"I don't blame Harry for telling me that we couldn't be together," she went on, "He was scared, just like everybody else. Looking back, I think it was all for the best. Without him, I had lost that feeling of safety that I had for the brief time we were together, so I decided that I had to make _myself_ feel safe. Like Harry had to be strong without Dumbledore, I would have to be strong without Harry."

Harry wanted to interrupt, but he couldn't. Ginny would continue until she was finished. No more would she be talked over.

"Even when we were together again, I knew that something was wrong. When Percy was killed, it all became so much more real. The war was on our doorstep, and I just had to be alone to think. I hated that I couldn't let anybody near me at times, but something told me I shouldn't. Something was happening to me, something I really wasn't ready for, and it was making me ill."

The memory of Ginny vomiting on the train came back to Harry and made him shudder with concern.

"I was feeling weaker with each passing day, and when I…attacked Crookshanks, I want you all to know that I wasn't myself. While I was in the hospital wing, I knew I needed answers that nobody else could give me. So I disappeared, and could only hope that I would still have friends when I came up for air. One thing was for sure; I couldn't let Harry fight alone. He wanted to protect me, but I wanted to do the same for him."

"So I started to read. I would read day and night, although it wasn't long before I would lose track of time completely, almost as if time didn't really mean anything. I dug so far into the roots of magic that I lost myself. The last thought I remember having before I began to fall was that Hermione would've been proud of me, but the part of me that clung to Harry allowed me to find my way back."

Ron didn't even care that he was denied a mention. His eyes just got bigger and bigger as he listened.

"It wasn't just reading about spells and incantations; I wanted to see the meaning behind it all, and it was then that I became frightened of what I had found. The words were sinking deep into my mind so fast that I started to panic. While I was practising the magic, it would somehow 'happen' before I was even ready. The knowledge within the books was scaring me and there were times when I would throw a book as far from me as I could, then fall into a corner and hide. Sometimes I wished I had never read…so…terrible…"

Her words were beginning to choke her up, but she resisted as Harry attempted to comfort her.

"I'm alright, honestly," she insisted, blinking a few times, "I just had to learn the lesson that when you ask magic so many questions, you won't always like the answers. What I needed was _control_, and that's not something you will find in a Hogwarts library book, not even in the restricted section. So I followed Professor McGonagall one evening, and waited until I knew her study would be empty for the night. I'd overheard her giving the password, so I could sneak in and take lessons from the only wizard who could help me."

She moved her eyes quickly over their questioning faces and nodded.

"Dumbledore, or rather, his spirit, taught me how to harness all the things I had learned. To begin with, he was actually worried that anyone so young would even want to know these things, but he understood my motives. What I didn't understand before is how your own mind can be your worst enemy if you cannot control what lies inside it."

"I would begin by silently enchanting objects, first with my wand, then eventually by the motion of my hand as I held the enchantment steadily in my head. As time went on, I found that I could perform certain magic by thought alone, although I can still find that a little overwhelming. The powers in our world have never stood still for _anybody_, and I still only know a fraction of what there is to know. But as I learned command of the magic, I learned command of myself, and finally I understood what had been happening to me, which is what I set out to do. Maybe the most important lesson was that once you see the meaning behind the magic, you can use it in whatever way you choose."

At that point, she blinked and her face appeared in the fire in front of them, then gave a wink and a smile before dissolving. Completely unfazed, she rubbed her eyes and returned at last to her stunned audience.

"I studied the roots of the Dark Arts, although Madame Prince has obviously been very careful about the reading materials allowed on the subject, so much of it came from Dumbledore. He talked in such a way as to ensure that I would never in fact be swayed by the Dark Magic I studied, but after a few weeks, he was concerned that I had what he called 'the look of emptiness' in my eyes. I asked what his next lesson would be, and…oh, this I will _never_ forget."

For the first time since she began speaking, a smile crept over her face.

"He told me to go to the library a find a book on the history of Quidditch. When I questioned him, he smiled and said it was about time I learned the importance of just being myself. I finally gave in and took his advice, but the more I tried to be myself, the more upset I became that I was living like that. Last night, I tried to distract myself from my loneliness by studying more complex Quidditch plays and formations, but then I couldn't help thinking about Harry. I gave up and cried myself to sleep."

Listening to this, Hermione looked to be on the verge of tears herself, and Ron pulled her into a comforting hug.

"When I woke up this morning, I heard a lot of excited voices, and something made me want to find out what was going on. I kept myself hidden from view, but just as I was feeling the fresh air on my face for the first time, I could hear people shouting that Dementors were invading Hogwarts. Through all the noisy panic, I could hear somebody pointing out that a certain wizard, who didn't seem to be quite right in the head, had decided to challenge the lot of them."

She turned to Harry and gave him a look of gentle concern that was clearly handed down from her mother.

"You're a hero, Harry," she said, "but I wasn't about to let you die."

Clearing her throat, she looked around on them all.

"You'll all have to trust me that I can't tell you more about what's happened to me. I wish I could."

Hermione was looking very puzzled, as she realised that there was a question she should have asked a long time before.

"One thing I don't understand," she began, "If all those Dementors were _here_, then who's guarding _Azkaban_?"

"_That's_ what you didn't understand?" asked Ron in surprise, trying to overlook to ominous implications of the question itself.

Harry seemed to be the only person with a clear answer.

"It's like she said, the war is on our doorstep," he murmured darkly, "I think it's safe to assume that the Ministry are no longer in control, and every Dark Wizard held in Azkaban is now free."

For the next few moments, none of them even dared to breathe. They all wanted to find fault with his logic, but it was simply a truth to be acknowledged. Life at Hogwarts had never been what Harry would call 'normal' (the angry, rational voices of his aunt and uncle would be forever ringing in his ears), but now it had changed beyond all recognition. Now they could only look to each other.

"Look, do you think we could discuss this tomorrow?" Ron begged, "I'm so tired I can barely think straight."

Despite a slight roll of the eyes, Hermione muttered her agreement. As the four of them rose from their seats, Harry decided that some positive action was most definitely required.

"Hermione, I need you to gather the D.A for a meeting tomorrow night. There are things that need to be said, and a lot that needs to be done."

She nodded, but smiled suspiciously back at him.

"Are you planning anything in particular?" she asked.

"Nothing special," he shrugged, "Just wanted to breed some killers, that's all."

As they reached the foot of the stairs to their respective dormitories, Ron gave Hermione as affectionate a goodnight kiss as he dared in front of the other two. There was a certain degree of frustration coupled with this. There were things he wanted to say, but the time just never seemed right.

Ginny and Harry slowly made their way up the separate staircases. From the moment Ginny passed out of sight, Harry felt an aching sensation inside that grew stronger with every step. He had an annoying suspicion as to what it was, but did his utmost to dismiss it. This was stupid, he thought. He may as well have been alone for every moment he had spent under his aunt and uncle's roof, and he had undergone enough anguish during his life to be able to cope with something like this. Suddenly, the ache became almost a stabbing pain, and he stopped in his tracks. Maybe he just needed a sit down or something. He could always see Madame Pomfrey about it in the morning. Without even turning around, he slowly retraced his steps down the stairs until he reached the bottom again.

He stepped backwards into the common room, then jumped out of his skin as his back encountered somebody else's. They both spun around, and he came face to face with the witch that he quite simply couldn't be without.

"Oh, sorry!" he blurted quickly.

"N..no, no, it's okay," she replied.

"I…I really…I just - ,"

"- couldn't," she said, completing his sentence for him.

In the fire lit solitude of the common room, they shared a comforting embrace, each of them taking their time to feel complete.

"Well," said Harry finally, "I suppose that sofa's comfortable enough,"

"Sounds fine to me," she replied, stroking the back of his neck.

Glancing back at each other, they suddenly drew wands and a large thick quilt appeared, completely covering the sofa across the room.

"That was mine," Harry grinned.

"Only because I was using my wand," she whispered.

As Harry lay down under the quilt, he lifted it up for Ginny to slide herself in beside him and tucked her in as though she were some delicate flower, knowing all the while that she was anything but. There was a question that came to mind that would have to be asked before he could possibly sleep.

"Ginny?" he whispered cautiously.

"Hmm?" came the reply.

"What exactly did you mean by 'control'? You did seem to be a bit vague about it."

She smiled and withdrew an arm from underneath the cover. Then, with a firm grasping motion of her hand, she summoned the flames from the fireplace and shaped them into a ball of fire in mid air. As she made a few subtle gestures with her forefinger, the flames separated and spelled out the word 'CONTROL' that burned brightly before their eyes. A moment later, she summoned the flames towards her in long fire serpent and extinguished it in a single breath as it flowed into her hand.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered into the darkness.


	43. Dark Minds in Dark Times

Chapter 43 – Dark Minds in Dark Times

Despite a great deal of meticulous planning, there really was no way that Snape could tell what each new day would bring. He dared not make any further contact with the Order, as his presence at the side of his master was now being requested with alarming regularity, and now he was beginning to ask himself when the time would come that his continuing loyalty to Albus Dumbledore would be brought to light. If it happened too soon, then his death (painful or otherwise) would almost certainly occur seconds later. He couldn't say for sure if there would ever be an _ideal_ moment, but whatever hope there was rested largely on the shoulders of Harry Potter. As much as he despised the boy, he couldn't escape the fact that he was relying on him to do the right thing. Snape didn't especially like having to rely on _anyone_, least of all a young wizard whose volatile and rebellious nature could very likely spell the end for both of them.

Another thought that concerned him greatly was the whereabouts of Malfoy, something the Dark Lord had refused to disclose, and Snape knew perfectly well that this wasn't because Malfoy had managed to escape. Wherever the boy had run to, Snape could only hope that he too was capable of doing the right thing.

In the meantime, he could at least be thankful for the small mercy that he was back in his own house. The fact that he was unable to enjoy the comfort of familiar surroundings alone was something he would simply have to endure.

"Wormtail, if you will insist upon casting your shadow in my living room, I would appreciate it if you do so in silence. It may yet be possible for both of us to pretend you're not here."

The wizard referred to looked up from the mass of tattered parchment and paperweights over which he had been whining and muttering to himself for the better part of an afternoon. Though he clearly resented being spoken to in such a way, his appointed task had given him an evident sense of superiority.

"And what exactly is your solitary comfort when compared to the Dark Lord's will?" he scoffed, "You were ordered to _assist_ me!"

These, thought Snape, were the kind of words that could end in a serious disagreement. No matter though; there were very simple ways of crushing such delusions of grandeur. In this instance, all that needed to be done was to show that the words had been heard and taken to heart. He set down a cup of herbal tea, rose slowly from his armchair, and advanced upon his unwelcome companion. Wormtail was doing his utmost to return his attention to his research, but the dark and heavy gaze of Severus Snape was not easily avoided.

"Despite the numerous death threats you have received from our master, Wormtail, I can assure you that you are safer in _his_ presence than in mine. He does not kill you because he has found you to be annoyingly useful from time to time."

Swooping down upon the man, like an eagle on its prey, he continued, watching the fear growing in Wormtail's eyes.

"I, on the other hand, have yet to see such worth in you, if you get my meaning. As for the Dark Lord's will, I only wish you realised how little you understand it."

He lingered for a moment for these words to take their full effect. He would not have chosen to be in this situation at all, and having such a cowardly imbecile for company only made matters worse. As he turned away, however, it appeared that the conflict had not been brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

"I have shown Lord Voldemort more loyalty than any of his followers!" Wormtail shrieked.

Though he considered further social interaction with this creature to be beneath him, this was clearly a notion to be addressed. He turned on the spot and fixed the man with a stare of cold contempt.

"Mr Pettigrew," he said, in the kind of slow, disgusted tone he would have normally reserved for an unruly first year Potions lesson, "You had a choice of facing a life in Azkaban or seeking out the protection of the most powerful Dark wizard ever known. It was fear that inspired your decision, and it is with that same blind fear that you obey orders without question. Loyalty does not enter the equation. You know as much of loyalty as Lord Voldemort knows of compassion. And before speaking in such a manner to me in my own house, I would beg you to remember that you would have surely died four years ago, were it not for my intervention!"

Peter Pettigrew had never even been a leader of rats, never mind wizards. He had led his life clawing at the heels of those who stood in the limelight. In this way, he had followed and admired James Potter, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. In this way, he had been swayed by the Dark Arts, and in this way, he had been pulled into the service of Lord Voldemort. Every time he had been put down and stepped on by those above him, he had endured it in the hope that all his bowing and scraping would earn him handsome rewards in the end, but somewhere at the back of his mind lurked the sneaking suspicion that he would eventually crack under the strain. As Snape slowly turned his back once more, he believed that time had come. Voldemort was a wizard whom he wouldn't dare challenge, but no longer could he bear to be belittled in this way by a mortal. He quivered with furious indignation and felt his hand reach for his wand, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Feeling the presence of a wand tip poised to attack him, Snape spun around with his own wand drawn and sent Wormtail flying against the wall behind, to which he became bonded as if with unusually strong glue. The Potions master walked slowly towards him, never blinking, his wand aimed constantly at the petrified man's head.

"How…_dare_ you!" he seethed, "Rest assured, if you raise your wand to me again, it will likely be the last thing you _ever_ do. You may not be facing the Dark Lord, but you are trifling with a man who is every bit as capable of ending your pathetic existence! Do I make myself clear?"

Wormtail was on the point of nodding his reply, when a devious smile spread across his features. Snape only needed the briefest moment to question this before lowering his wand and watching his target fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"My Lord," he said quietly, bowing his head a little.

From the shadows of the hall, a pale, emotionless face emerged through the doorway, surrounded by heavy black robes. The face glanced from one to the other, and finally rested on Snape.

"Severus, my trusted servant," said Voldemort in his inimitable blood chilling voice, "If this hapless creature hasn't already explained the nature of his research, allow me to emphasise that it is of the most paramount importance to all our futures. Though I would not condemn you for wishing him dead, I must ask that you give this task your full attention."

Snape nodded humbly in acquiescence, as the Dark wizard slowly turned his head.

"As for you, Wormtail," he continued coldly, "I will allow this most upright of Death Eaters to deal with you as he sees fit if you should fail me now."

Wormtail couldn't meet his master's eyes. Instead, he bowed low repeatedly and muttered his assurances that such a measure would not be necessary. Voldemort ignored him and settled himself in the armchair that Snape had vacated, before finally addressing the two of them.

"There has been a rather interesting development," he began, "It appears that I have partially underestimated the companions of the young wizard I seek to destroy. Following the arrival of the Dementor guards at Hogwarts, I am told that three of their number perished at the hands of a witch who came to his rescue, and from what I can tell, one who was evidently wise beyond her years. An impressive feat to be sure, though needless to say, I cannot have such a reckless young lady running free. Mr Potter must be lured out of hiding very carefully indeed, and the absence of his cherished mentor is no reason to believe it will be any easier. Mistakes, gentlemen…will _not_ be tolerated."

The Dark wizard vanished into thin air before he had even finished rising to his feet. Wormtail, very much aware that his greatest protection was now absent from the room, remained seated on the floor as Snape took his place at the table and gazed over the scattered mass of faded historical documents. He wasn't so much trying to derive meaning from what lay before him as asking himself the most important question of all. The question was easier to examine if worded in the way of a Daily Prophet reporter. How far would, or _could_ he go to serve a villain whilst protecting a hero? Hero. Snape hated that word. There was a time when he understood a 'hero' to be one who overcame insurmountable odds by virtue of their own hard-earned personal strengths. Harry Potter wasn't a hero. If he emerged triumphant, he would doubtless be hailed as one, but personal strength would be of little matter when compared to blind luck and the unspoken deeds of those who stood in the shadows. The whole idea made him feel sick, but something told him that another encounter with Voldemort would expose the boy for what he truly was; either a _true_ wizard or an unfortunate corpse.

His attention returned to the task in hand, realising that he would need to be prepared for the worst at every moment.

"Julianne Ygadrir…" he murmured, vaguely aware that Wormtail was now vertical, "Reported life time exceeding one hundred and forty years, practiced her arts with daughter Pandora…no, there _must_ be more to this. Nearest approximate year of passing seems to be ten seventy-two, but this depiction in ink…could have even been in the time of Hopkins…and how to account for the remaining centuries…?"

He glanced momentarily at Wormtail, who was hovering beside him, still dusting himself off.

"Quite how you gave our master the impression that you had a firm grasp of the facts is quite beyond me," he muttered, resuming his teacher's air.

"I'm perfectly capable, thank you," was the short reply.

Snape raised an eyebrow and sighed, his eyes never leaving the table.

"Hardly riveted to your studies, were you? One of your many problems, Pettigrew, is that you never appreciated the wealth of knowledge that Hogwarts had to offer you. You should never dismiss the ability to learn effectively from historical sources, but then again, I suppose becoming James Potter's lapdog was so much higher on your list of priorities."

Casting a far more critical eye over the scrolls that lay weighted down, it was most worrying how easily the wheels in Snape's head were turning, and just how easy it would be to give the Dark Lord the information he required.


End file.
